Seeking Harmony
by Nemesi
Summary: Movieverse. A/L. Elven legends tell about a perfect Harmony every creature can find--- what if Legolas was to find it inside one of his mortal friends? My first LotR fic...
1. Seeking Harmony

**_Title: _**_Seeking Harmony_

**_Author:_**_ Nemesi. _

**_Disclaimer:_**_ *sighs* I own nothing but the silly theory of the Harmony. All the characters here portrayed are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien._

**_Warnings:_**_ Confused Legolas. Sweetness. Faint hints at A/L slash, which means guy/guy relationships. Please do not proceed forward if you're uncomfortable with it. =)_

**_Notes: _**_*looks around* So this is the LofR fandom? Cool! I already like it! This is my first LotR fics, and it's a slash nonetheless, hope you like. =)_

**_Rating:_**_ PG-13_  
  


* * * * *

_Could you let down your hair and be transparent for awhile___

_Just a little while to see if you're human after all_

_Honesty is a hard attribute to find when we all want to seem like_

_We got it all figured out_

_Let me be the first to say that I don't have a clue_

_I don't have all the answers_

_Ain't going to pretend like I do_

_Just trying to find my way_

_Trying to find my way the best I know how_

_Well, I haven't got it all figured out quite yet_

_But even if it takes my whole life to get to where I need to be_

_If I should fall to the bottom of the end_

_I'll be one step back to you_

_- Trying - Lifehouse_

There's a place somewhere where every creature, be it mortal or immortal, can find peace; complete harmony.

Elven people say such place is bound to be found neither on earth nor in mortals' afterlife, since such realms are forbidden to Elves, but inside the soul.

Trapped in a mystical moment, glittering and perfect like a crystal of snow. Snowy and ethereal like the light of dawn. Frozen in time, paused in motion, silent in sound, translucent in sight and ghostly to touch.

A single moment of singular perfection, that if kept in the heart could everlasting bring joy.

Legolas Greenleaf wondered if he'd found his Harmony.

Wondered if it resided in the depths of the forest he was in; in the alluring glow of the night enclosing him; or in the gentle whisper of the wind streaming through his hair.

And at the same time he knew it resided both in all those thing as well as in no one, for his harmony couldn't have been chiselled in the folds of that night if time had changed its flow just the tiniest bit. 

And more than all if that man, that mortal, hadn't been there.

The shallow clearing the Fellowship had taken sanctuary in was brightened by nearly millions of fragments of light only a trained eye could tell to be fireflies. The little lights, the children of flames, danced sinuously around the fair elf, silently, not daring to even brush the pristine velvety of the Elven beauty.

Ancient trees crowded the clearing, their fronds intertwining and overflowing into a patchy blanket far above him. Vines looped down from the mating branches, dark companions to the milky radiance spilling hesitantly through the leaves to shine on the golden silkiness of Legolas' hair and the snowy velvety of his pale visage. 

The limpid blue pools of indigo the Prince of Elves had stolen the Ocean to witness the world rippled and danced, as wonder shimmered underneath their clearness. Harmony, yes. His harmony resided there, in that one place, that one minute, that one person. Yet, it was clouded by feelings of confusion deeper than the Elf allowed himself to admit.

How could that have happened? The Nine had become Eight, and the Eight had left one behind to become seven just before splitting in Three and Two and Two.

Gandalf the Grey had perished in recent times, so recent to still stir mute grief inside the Elf's heart; but something apparently less important, something no one would have dared think to trouble him, had set his heart into swirling confusion, because _*his*_ heart was plagued by similar –although more painful- feelings.

Never had Legolas seen such a thing, not in the eternity that waited for him he would again. He had seen Boromir, the son of Gondor fall, reaching the foreign lands were his ancestor dwelled, if only in spirit. And he had seen… Aragon, Strider, shed tears for him, lie over Boromir's cooling body and cup bloody hands around his dirty face, touching his lips to the high forehead.

Such behaviour from their collected leader had puzzled the Elf beyond words.

Those moments, those minute, infinitesimal moments, were seared in his mind forevermore. The elf had wandered into the battlefield riding the wind, only to screech to a sharp alt, time itself halting with him. Crystalline blue eyes huge, he'd blinked, feeling the depths of those unbelievable orbs fill with confusion.

Caught; caught like a deer in front of unforeseen light, the Elf had tilted his head, lost in that strange moment were time preferred to flow slower than allowed, and golden locks waltzed around his face, sunlight reflecting off every shimmering strand. Lips puckering slightly in a frown of confusion, the wise eyes of the Elf darkened to a sapphire blue, like those of a puppy.

And it was with all the innocence of a newborn that the Elf had witnessed the last farewell Aragorn gave his brother, the son of Gondor, Boromir. The palpable sacredness that last touch, that faint brush of bloody lips over bloody temples, held, had been enough to made the wood fall silent. And even the heart of an Elf filled with aching sadness.

He'd just stood there, his natural glow somewhat paler, bow held loosely in a fair hand, looking like he'd stand there until the end of the world, while the heir of Isildur kissed his brother farewell. Even the Dwarf, who'd stumbled into the clearing without grace had succumbed to the silence of pain, enthralled by the sanctity and hurting quality of the scene in front of him.

Legolas could not bring himself to say he'd understood that extreme exchange of affection, for his Elven nature prevented him to fully understood human hearts. Elves understood the language of nature and shared its deepest pains, as well as seeking solace only in other Elves, if not in those their hearts beat alongside. 

But the pain of men and their displays of sorrow are foreign realms to Elven people, and thus Legolas could just watch as the ritual took place, and the two sons of Gondor were divided forever.

Even thought Legolas meant to bid farewell to such brave warrior as Borromir had been, truth must be told that touch his forehead with his Elven lips was not in his intentions. And he wondered, in strange quietude, about that act of affection and respect bind together, and about the pain craved in their hearts.

Boromir was dead. Legolas had watched him fall. All of the Three had watched him fall. Nothing would ever change that fact that he was gone, and, accepting his death as a means of letting the Fellowship continue, and the world not end, they should lay his memory to rest. 

Lowering his eyelids partly Legolas gave his head a slight toss. There was no point in languishing over what couldn't be reversed. It was logic. No matter how much the heart hurt, they had to let go. 

Yet he couldn't. Neither of them could. The Dwarf was doubting his strength. The Human was haunted by pain and guilt, and would be for long times to come – having lost a fellow son of the same mother Land. But the Elf…

The Elf just could not wipe from his mind the remembrance of Aragorn's last farewell to Boromir.

Long black lashes swept down onto pale cheeks as sapphire eyes disappeared behind their lids for the longest of moments, a strange feeling seeping into the Elf's mind. And when his allowed his lids to flutter up, Aragon was there, like he was. 

Legolas knew the man would be out there when he came back from the forest. How, he didn't know. Strong of this sureness of his Legolas had walked with sure steps toward the clearing, fully intending to put a stop to that wonder of his.

But once he reached his destination, the Elf found out that he couldn't; for something was whispering him to wait a little more –only a little more- before daring make a sound. And that indeed had been a wise suggestion, whenever it had come from. 

Gazing at Aragorn's features relaxed in sleep the Elf had found something he didn't know he was searching.

Infinite peace, serenity of mind and soul. 

That was his Harmony.

Amazed at he was, it was a surprise how it took the noble Elf only few hours to slowly will himself out of his blissful reverie- he fully expected to remain in the trance-like state that had caught him for days. His Harmony had been found –and that was amazing for itself- but, incredibly, it resided outside of him, and in an mortal as well.

Leaning closer to the man sleeping next to him, until their faces were mere inches apart, Legolas titled his head to one side, golden strands getting caught in the breeze and gleaming in the silvery light, and studied the mortal's features closely.

His skin, tanned and dirty, looked almost lucent bronze in the pale moonlight. His hair was dark chestnut, burnished to copper in some places. The mortal's outward appearance was pleasing to the eye and, from time to time, breathtaking; but this wouldn't count in the eyes of the Elves if his heart hadn't been just as handsome as his features. 

Not even half of the admiration the fair Elf had for the Man would have been born if he was just slightly less brave, less pure.

Hovering above the man whit his legs in a crouch, Legolas had stared at his face for so long that everything else but him had blurred in his vision. He felt content just to stand in that clearing, feeling the breeze gently blow his hair, watching Aragorn sleeping form with intent.

Even in such a dire situation as theirs, he'd left hours fly by, hardly noticing. But doubts seared his mind in an iron grip now, and the Elf knew he could not wait anymore.

He'd accepted to wait, to question his own heart instead of Aragorn, but time was drifting away, and he knew. What if they never were to speak again? What if their ancestors called one of them in the morning, to leave the Fellowship to shatter furthermore? There was no certitude of tomorrow, thus he had to act, if he wanted his doubts dissipated. 

Legolas had sought Aragorn with his eyes since they'd left the river to enter those woods. He ached for knowledge. His spirit would not allow him rest if the Elf didn't came to know the way of mortal hearts. 

Would Aragorn explain him, he wondered. And would he be able to understand, once told?

In the midst of his thoughts Legolas had failed to notice dreams crawling to Aragorn and filling his mind until he saw those dark eyes move restlessly under their lids. Silently, the Elf reached down, and brushed a stray lock of hair away from the now slight clammy forehead. 

Whatever dream the man was having was shattered, but for Aragorn it was like waking from a dream to another dream, maybe more beautiful even.

Above him, Legolas' pale visage gleamed, ethereal under the kisses of the moonlight, a fine mantle of golden silk glittering on his shoulders. Like a star, he was. Luminous. Beyond reach of mortal hands. And just barely within the one of mortal eyes. 

For a moment there was nothing but silence, and all that could be heard was the singing wind. Then,

"Legolas…" Aragorn ventured softly, alarmed, but very well aware there was no danger if not the sadness in those blue eyes.

"What do you dream of, when sleeps carries you to its lands?" Legolas inquired gently, his voice as soft as the wind. It filled Aragorn with a sense of confusion and melancholy, his mind drifting back to their recent losses. Although the Ranger moved his lips, the Elf did not want an answer, already having one to give them both. 

"Of Arwen, yes? And our lost Gandalf, Boromir and Frodo. Do you ever see me in your dreams?" Legolas' question was filled with both curiosity and gentleness, but again his own voice answered him. "No, of course you don't, but that's the way things have to be." 

Raising himself up on his elbows, Aragorn studied Legolas' eyes, meeting questions the Elf himself was unsure how to voice. He felt ashamed, somewhat, of his wonder; of his need to know. Yet, he could not hope to tame it.

"It's so hard to find a balance when you've to decide between mind and heart." The Elf began, even if somewhat hesitantly. "Our mission, our pain… which one is more important? Such paradoxes proceeding side by side… which one guides us…?" Legolas shook his head, distraught. "I don't understand. If our friends fell, it was to allow us to go on. Then why are we hesitating, death in our hearts? I seek answers and yet find none. How come I can't find peace?" Legolas raised his eyes to Aragorn, barely blinking. "How come you can't either?"

Instead of answering Aragorn touched the Elf's hair, gently, offering comfort. Again Legolas lowered his head.

"I shouldn't question matters. I'm an Elf; I'm not like you humans yet… I can't help but wonder. Curiosity and confusion are diseases that plague mortals, not the people of my race. And yet… whenever I place I eyes, I find questions, and no answers, as it should be."

The elf fell silent for a fragment of moment, and the added, "But whenever my eyes fall on you, albeit my confusion does not lessen, for I wonder about your heart and your own burden of pain, in you… in you I find serenity." Shaking his head the Elf diverged his focus on the ground, his voice growing reluctant with his next admission. "In you I just found my Harmony."

"Legolas…" Aragorn said softly as he rose to a seated position, awed as well, and brushed the hair out of the Elf's face. The human sensed the golden Elf's uncertainty as it simmered, churning, under the pale velvety of his countenance; and the man almost growled when their eyes met briefly and he saw just how wounded the Prince was by such confusion. 

…friendship…duty…responsibility…rings…hurt…pain…death…obligation…hope…confusion…sorrow…trust…helplessly…

Anxiety filled his heart hastily. Aragon knew he had to stop that shimmering confusion. He needed to. For Legolas and for himself as well. He had been entrusted with the mantle of leadership, and would make sure to deserve it. All he could do, though, was be there for him, offering as much comfort as his own confused soul could muster.

Him – the fair prince's Harmony? Folly, pure folly.

After moments of silence, Legolas finally raised his eyes to his, gazing into the burnt brown depths.

"Would you dream about me, if I died too?" He whispered at last, eyebrows drawing together as he lowered his lids partially, and Aragorn's fine features twisted into a worried frown. The flaxen Elf… die. That would be a crime in the eyes of every race and deity. 

"Would you touch your lips to my skin, as you did Boromir, if I left this lands, or that's something an Elf can't receive from a Human?" Wonder filled his voice, and for once even his eyes, the only trait of his features that gave away his real ancientness, were young and troubled.

Aragon breathed deeply and stared at him in wonder. So luminous. So far more luminous than anything he'd ever seen, and yet cloaked in the shadow of doubt. So fair, so fragile, and yet so strong. Like a diamond, a combination of perfection, strength and delicacy that gleamed entrancingly. Something to cherish and protect. Something that needed reassurance and answers like never before and never again.

"I cannot explain… I'm not sure I ever will. I'm not even able to speak my mind. I just want to 

understand. I want to see what's inside human's hearts, what leads them to be what they are. Cruel, and unruly, and yet tender, and soft… I want to know about the secrets of the magic of their touches. About the sacredness they held. About the Harmony they seek and yet seem to naturally posses. I need so badly to know human hearts, and human feelings as well." Legolas whispered.

Mutely, Aragorn nodded, silently confirming he understood something Legolas himself wasn't sure about. Removing his blanket the Man took the Elf's hand and gently guided him under the warmth of the old, tattered cloth. Legolas wanted to just lie in the man's arms but was confused, dared he say afraid, of such thing.

"I'll let you in my heart," Aragon breathed as he wrapped his arms around the hesitant Prince. "I'll let you see what I see. Hear what I hear. Feel what I feel." Legolas quietly snuggled deeper into the man's warmth, every doubt fading into trembling mist he could focus on afterwards. Around them, a colder wind picked up, moaning like a lost soul. But the elf could not think about either the coldness or the wind. With the man's arms wrapped around him, and his scent to fill his nostrils, he felt safe.

Legolas' arms tentatively moved around him, and in return Aragon squeezed him with rough gentleness, explaining, demonstrating, until the Elf's arms tightened around him, slowly; gently at first, and then with renewed and renewing strength. 

Share such intimacy, such closeness, with a man –with *that* man- felt good. Natural, even. The elf could feel the heart that so much had confused him pound against his own, and he doubted for a moment if their hearts weren't, in fact, just the same. By the sound of them, it just seemed so, since they paced themselves at the same, harmonic rhythm.

Was that the secret of human's magic? Have no secret at all? Or there was something more to those soothing and yet astounding touches of Aragorn's that Legolas yet had to understand? His doubts faded, to make room to soft wonder; And since Elves' nature leads them to search for answers, answers Legolas did seek. 

The Elf leaned his head in the crook of the Human's neck, and Aragorn tensed momentarily, once understanding he was being smelled, tasted. Afraid for a moment he might actually be shattering the perfect little synchrony they were creating, and ashamed of having dared too much in his eagerness to understand that one man's heart, Legolas retreated shyly. 

Sensing the Elf squirming away Aragorn touched his lips to Legolas' forehead in a protective gesture, wrapping his arms tighter around him, like he'd never let go. As if assuring him with the fact that they could take as long as they wanted, that he could do whatever he wanted, because that mortal would never step back. As if he could, by sharing more of his body's warmth with the Elf, made the promise of more warmth to come and melt his confusion.

Any uncertainty was washed away instantly, as if a secret had been revealed to both of them, and they listened in blissful silence to the other breathe as the day fast approached. 

The mortal wasn't concerned with daylight –whatever it may bring, be it pain, hurt, loss, friendship, or love. At that moment, only Legolas mattered. Whatever was ahead of them, Aragorn was not concerned about.

Why should the Elf be, then?

- Fin.

**_*looks around* Uhm… well, yeah, all right. That was my first Aragorn/Legolas. Did it suck too much? Or do you think I should write a sequel to this? I would love it if you dropped me a review. ^^_**


	2. Spirits Awakening to Eternity

****

**_Title: _**_Seeking Harmony – part 02 – Spirits Awakening to Eternity. _

**_Author:_**_ Nemesi. _

**_Disclaimer:_**_ *sighs* I own nothing but the silly theory of the Harmony. All the characters here portrayed are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. _

**_Summary: _**_Enthralled Aragorn. Confused Legolas. Human emotions have started to dwell inside the Elf's heart, even though he has no name for them. Can Aragorn help him name them? Will he, once he recognizes such feelings for what they really are? _

**_Notes: _**_*smiles* I love you guys, I truly do. I received lot of reviews and mails about this fic, so I decided to continue. This is dedicated to all those that encouraged me to go on. =) _

**_Rating:_**_ PG-13_  
  


* * * * *

_And if you should still fall into despair, there is one thing left to believe  
I lie in your heart always _

_Nothing is braver than honesty, my life is your faith in me _

_I'll be there when you need  
You don't have to hide from me  
What you are feeling now  
I fill your soul _

_We will seek together destiny  
Troubles have an end  
We will carry on hand in hand  
You're not alone _

_People searching desperately outside themselves,  
Caught up in thinking of what never helped  
And I'd forgotten too that love exists inside of me as in  
Those that I wanted from  
I feel you now _

_I'll be there when you need  
We will live together  
Nothing is in our way  
With trust in our soul _

_We will seek together destiny  
Troubles have an end  
We will carry on hand in hand  
We won't forget we have each other _

_Love is in the heart of all man  
You're not alone._

_ - **You're not alone - Maaya Sakamoto **_

It was cold; too cold for him. 

The blooming daylight was of a dull, pale sort, as if the sun had been fatigued by the raging storm that had racked the Lands all day. The world was suspended between night and day, and trapped in an moment of silence, cold wisps of darkness lingering like ghosts across the sky. The cold, icy, breeze tore above the tress, stirring them into low screeches.

The cool seeped through him like water through cloth even as thriving sunlight glided gently over him. The wind clawed at the Man's skin, and he found himself shivering in the secluded nestle of intertwined branches under which he'd taken sanctuary, high on top of the sloping hill.

Trying to rid himself of the cold emptiness he felt inside, Aragorn rubbed his arms actively, a frustrated gesture. Caught in the fading dark, the Man found himself wishing for more protection from the elements besides his tattered blanket, only dimly aware that no fire could ever thaw the ice that caged him. 

In the midst of his shivers, the ghostly remembrance of Legolas's warmth came back to him, tormenting him like the thought of water would torture a man lost in wastelands. A weight he could not explain came with the realization whose was the warmth he sought, and the coldness settled on his heart like a fine blanket of snow.

Rearranging the blanket around his shoulders, Aragorn let his eyes travel downward to the modest camp they'd settled while searching refuge from the storm's icy fingers. The Man glanced across the dying embers at Gimli, who dozed in a bower under the trees, wrapped in every garment and blanket they owned in his quest for warmth. 

Could he sleep through everything, Aragorn wondered.

The realization that Legolas's own blanket was now lying over the snoring Dwarf as well came with the realization that the Elf himself was nowhere to be seen. Aragorn felt his features twist into a frown, and searched the shadows with keen eyes, a strange feeling of apprehension seeping into his heart.

Darting his eyes through the shadowed landscape, Aragorn felt yet another shiver, long and cold, invade him. He looked through the trees and across the river; then at the woods far below him, and at last he diverged his focus up at the sky, where thousands of stars singed, almost as if Legolas, star of beauty and grace among the Elves, could have found sanctuary between his less appealing and charming sisters in the Heavens.

At last a pale glimmer, a spark of golden in the velvety darkness, caught in the corner of his eye. For one endless moment the man refused to align his eyes on the perfect, lone figure at the edge of his vision, his shivers renewing at the mere thought.

And then he succumbed at last, turning to face the vision Legolas was.

Legolas stood facing him, pale body wrapped in shadows and gold, blue eyes glimmering, fair hair flowing, lips rosy. His cape wavered gently around his ankles, like textured water, and through timid squalls the collar of his green shirt would be lifted enough to show glimpses of a pure white neck and chest. There were slight shadows under his eyes, and the shocking prospective that they came from lack of sleep rose to Aragorn's mind.  
  
He was the most beautiful thing the Man had ever seen. 

The rising sun hid behind a fleeting cloud and a bolder breeze flew past them, scattering the dirt and dead leaves in eddies across the hill. A lock of shiny golden hair fell into Legolas's jewel eyes, but it did not seem to bother him as he kept gazing, mutely, at Aragorn. At last the Elf blinked slowly, gently brushing the stray strand of golden from his face. A shiny droplet appeared on his face, sliding down his face to die on his lips. More streaks joined the first quivering drop, and it slowly started to rain.

Water was soon trickling down his face and his saturated hair was blowing freely in the renewed wind, but the Elf seemed oblivious to the weather, his mind lost somewhere deep within Aragorn's eyes. Then, unexpectedly, he slowly lifted his head to the sky, as if registering the rain's existence. Lowering his head, he once again locked his eyes with Aragorn's, and the man stopped breathing for a second, feeling warmer for the first time during his watch.

"Legolas…" he whispered softly as he motioned for the Elf to join him in his small haven. With a nod Legolas complied, covering the distance between them with few, long steps, as if untouched by the pouring rain, and sat down next to the man with liquid gracefulness. Once the two of them found themselves in the most confined space, created jointly by a roof of interlaced branches and a wall of musky trunks, Aragorn took his time to study the Elf closely. At once he wrapped his blankets around the wet form when he saw Legolas shiver, dimly aware that his previous coldness had all but vanished.

"It'll keep you warm," he breathed as Legolas snuggled closer to him. The Elf said nothing, but accepted the blanket gladly, a small smile curving his lips. "What makes you wander through such weather, Legolas?" The Elf shrugged, some strands of golden hair sliding down his shoulder with the motion and glittering wet in the scarce lighting.

"I'm but enjoying the beauty of nature, Aragorn, for we cannot know what the Valar have chosen for us. I want to drink in such beauty as long as I can, savouring hours of joy in spite of what the new day may bring." The Elf sighed as he pressed his cheek to his shoulder, his arms curling around his knees. Aragorn frowned, worried, yet wondering about this urge he had to protect the Elf. 

Aragorn traced a wet line across his lips with the tip of his tongue, tasting rain. 

"Whatever the Valar have chosen for you, do not tempt them by wandering unprotected through such a lousy storm." The Man said softly, noticing at last that Legolas's bow and quiver where missing. The Elf glanced up at him, and on his face was a smile that made him look both sad and happy, wise and innocent. 

"I never thought you to be a superstitious man." 

"I am not." Aragorn replied, with barely veiled defensiveness. "But I am realistic." Legolas tilted his head, and slowly his smile broadened, his eyes sparkling like tens of stars. 

"Worrying about an Elf getting sick in the rain, Ranger, is no matter of realism." 

"Is being worried for an old friend a crime?" Aragorn retorted, his voice dangling between hurt and amusement. 

"No, of course not." Legolas replied, eyes still sparkling. "But I'm no child." 

"Yes, you are." The Man argued, slipping a protective arm around the Elf's shoulder. "You're no Elf now, but a Human in learning. You're no less naïve than a child, we can say." At these words Legolas heaved a sigh, and turned away, focus diverged on the glistening grass licking his ankles. 

Aragorn frowned, regretting his words, and was about to apologize, when he noticed how Legolas was leaning closer to him, letting his fingertips brush the Man's arm just above Boromir's armband. Aragorn's arm moved under Legolas's touch, and soon the Elf found himself tracing senseless pattern across the Man's palm, before tanned fingers curled around his trembling ones.

Aragorn lifted his other hand, and before common sense could drawn his desire, he had closed it to rub his knuckles gently across Legolas's cheek. The Elf leaned into his hand, eyes closing as he exhaled.

"I wanted this." He whispered, eyebrows drawing together, as Aragorn allowed his fingers to entwine within the long golden strands framing Legolas's face. "But it's difficult for me to cope, for I have never been through confusion and uncertainty before, even if I have no doubt that I will go through it again. I thought that becoming Human could give me answers, and yet it did naught but gave birth to more questions. Humanity is, it seems, naught but confusion. At least to me; at least now."

Closing his eyes, Aragorn refused for a moment to reopen them, afraid that he'd look at his side and find nothing. Afraid to find out that he'd dreamed the whole morning encounter. Afraid to find out that Legolas was naught but a beautiful dream born in his doze, for Aragorn had done nothing in real life to deserve anything akin the fair Prince by his side. 

The Man felt like he had to be sure that Legolas was really there somehow, so he shifted, cautiously, until he could feel the Elf's warm body brushing by his own, and released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Only then he did open his eyes, and as he did they fell on Legolas as if after their own volition. 

The change that had occurred in the Elf in just a few days was remarkable. Even Gimli had been surprised, if not pleased, to see how the usually composed Elf could be caught smiling at nothing. To hear his laugh echo crystalline and pure in the darkness they wandered through. To see him flushing and stammering as a mere mortal on moments, seeking physical contact just as much as he would evade it before.

Aragorn had seemed not surprised at the change, and would only smile secretly at it, as if he was the keeper of a secret known only to himself. Himself and Legolas perhaps, seeing how the two could often be caught smiling at each other. At those shared smiles, those brief touches and wordless exchanges in which both the Man and the Elf's eyes would shine, Gimli found himself wondering if the borders of friendships had been trespassed between his two travelling companions to trace new ones born of stronger feelings. But the Dwarf knew better than question them, and had settled for merely watching over them, fond smiles blossoming under his beard when no one was there to witness.

Of his change Legolas had been the more surprised of all, and his delight of being able to understand Aragorn and behave like him was intoxicating to the Elf. Each step he made toward Humanity would gain him one of Aragorn's smiles, and at those the Elf's heart would fill with a warmth he could not name. All he knew was that he wanted that warmth to be inside him always, and each time he saw Aragorn lips curve up in pride or mirth, Legolas knew he wanted that smile to never desert the tanned features of the Ranger.

But just as often as he would laugh and be merry Legolas could be caught staring sadly off into the distance, signing to himself songs so sad to tear at his companion's hearts. The more Legolas discovered about humans the more often he would be caught on the verge of grieving, but why that was, Aragorn wasn't sure. Only the Elf knew the source of his hurt was the same of his joy, Aragorn. 

The man was, indeed, teaching Legolas to be Human, allowing him inside his heart, but the deepest corners of the Man's soul were closed to him, and deep inside the Elf wept in regret, whishing, needing, to have more and not understanding how to grant his wish, or why he whished for such closeness with the Man in the first place.

He was becoming Human, Legolas had concluded, overjoyed and saddened beyond words, and that was the proof.

There was a moment of silence. The storm was gone now, leaving only a few slivers of dark clouds in the lavender sky. The shadows gathered low on the horizon and dissipated as the sun's rays suffused the skies, painting the surrounding hills and plateaus with a wash of gold.

"It's so beautiful." Legolas very nearly whispered. "It's comforting to see how, despite the shadow growing in the East, the nature keeps following its rhythms. For now matter what will be of us in the end, the Dark Lord can make nothing to darken these dawns of beauty." Aragorn only nodded a small response, lost in his own reverie.

A thought occurred him, then. One that did not please him at all, stabbing his heart with unexpected force.

"Do you regret it?" _Do you regret having my heart laid bare in front of you? Is what you see inside of me too disgusting for you to bear? _Legolas pulled away from Aragorn, turning to face him, and on the Elf's face was the most radiant smile Aragorn had ever seen.

"Never." Legolas whispered softly. "It may be difficult for me to understand Men, but I'm glad I'm learning." Aragorn looked away, eyebrows drawn together.

"I don't understand." He began and then broke off, lips parted. Legolas leaned toward him a bit, his eyebrows creased and his head cocked in an inquisitive gesture. Aragorn glanced at him, a quick glance, before licking his lips, and then began again. "I don't understand why a fair Elf as you are wants to know the heart of Men's, creatures so low and rude when compared to your kin…"

"That's not true!" Legolas cried out. Aragorn turned toward him at once, surprised at the faintly distressed tone in the Elf's melodious voce. They found themselves looking into one another's eyes, blue and grey locked together, fathoming those pained words. The Elf's lips felt parched, and he ran his tongue across them, tasting his own skin, eyes squinted. He seemed to be attempting to summon the strength to be irate, but lacked the energy for anything exceeding vague sadness.

"Not true at all…" Legolas whispered after long minutes, voice hoarse, and then looked down, unable to meet the Man's eyes any longer. After looking him up and down for a moment Aragorn raised his face to the breeze caressing his cheeks, closing his eyes. When he opened his mouth to speak, his voice was clear and steady.

"You're fond of humans, Legolas." He said softly, and it was not a question.

Legolas's eyes rose from the ground and Aragorn was there, eyes closed, lips parted, hair wafting in the breeze. The Elf could do nothing to tear his eyes off the Man as he watched his slow breathing, gazing at how the sunlight highlighted and accentuated the hard curves of his face. At last Aragorn's lids fluttered up, and it was only when a glimmer of grey appeared behind his eyelashes to greet the sky that Legolas looked down again, his teeth sinking in his bottom lip.

"I am."

Everything seemed to hold still. And to ease the curtain of silence Legolas opened his mouth without thinking.

"I love them." And the whispered admission seemed to lend the feeling of a dream to the symphony of silence and sunlight.

"What do humans have, Legolas, that could possibly draw you to them?" Aragorn questioned in genuine puzzlement, an eyebrow quirked.

"Humans change and grow, with time. They've been given this one likelihood. They posses a power that makes them dream and hope until the impossible is made possible. That's what draws me to them. Elves, who know everlasting life, can desire, but do not dream. They do not feel the need to hope, for they know time will bring solution to every problem. Yesterday is like Today for us. Today's like Tomorrow and the rest of Eternity." Legolas shook his head slowly, tightening his arms around his legs. "I love humans for this hope of theirs. For their dreams; their way to live their emotions fully in front of a limited life." Legolas continued in that quiet, soft voice, slowly looking up at Aragorn again. "I think I have been a human, once, before I took the appearance you know me with. And I… I want to be human again."

Aragorn shook his head, caught in a moment of silence in which his voice had died inside his chest.

"Why?" He whispered at last. Legolas looked all the way up, meeting Aragorn's searching eyes, and said, simply,

"To be like you."

Aragorn's mouth went dry, his breath caught in his throat as Legolas stared at him. The Elf was looking at him now with an intensity that made him shiver, alternating waves of hot and cold down his spine.

"Why?"

"Because of what you are." Aragorn shook his head in disbelief.

"I'm not anywhere as special as you are, my friend. How could you desire, you beautiful creature, to be like me?"

"You're my Harmony, Aragorn." Legolas said, his voice thick with emotion, pleading Aragorn to once again understand something his own heart could not comprehend. The man beside him just stared at him, admiration frank in his eyes. There was nothing about the Elf that was not perfection itself, and as the Man ran his eyes down his lithe form, acknowledging the alluring pallor of the Elf's skin, the glimmer that transformed his hair in a flaming cascade of gold, he wondered how could such perfection long to be like he was. "Your courage, your soul, your heart, are wonderful to me!" 

Aragorn could not bring himself to believe such a lie, for as sweet as it was. Part of him refused to believe Legolas. The Elf could not possibly admire him, could not possibly want to be like him, for Legolas himself was superior to him in any way, in the man's eyes. And then again, Aragorn could not be –couldn't believe he was- the fair creature's Harmony. That was something too wonderful, too special, to be Aragorn's.

Legolas himself was too special.

To special to be his to keep, he reasoned.

And yet, a significant part of him desperately wanted to believe otherwise.

Torn, the Man turned around, forcing his eyes away from the beautiful sight that was Legolas, and the Elf's hand gripped with desperate force to his shoulder, forcing their bodies to touch with a silver sparkle of warmth.

"I cannot see why you refuse to see your beauty, Aragorn!" Legolas pleaded. "Why such reluctance in admitting that you're indeed, special? At least to my eyes? It's you with your strong body, your skin darkened by the sun, your eyes of the colour of mist, who is beautiful, not me…" Suddenly, a slight flush suffused Legolas's cheeks, and the Elf let go of Aragorn's shoulder, turning away sharply at the belated realization his words had been, indeed, too straightforward, and wondering all the same how could have he said such things without restraint.

Aragorn turned toward him immediately, body stiffening, and after a long moment Legolas lifted his head, looking up into the man's eyes with bottomless blue irises tinged with confusion. The Elf's pupils were wide, lips parted around his own rapid breathing. They found themselves looking into one another's eyes, something profound and subtle passing between them.

For a moment a different glint alighted Legolas's eyes, shining like a treasure washed up onto the shore. And then, again, Legolas whipped around, his knuckled fading white around his knees. Realization swept over Aragorn, like a warm light of gold piercing the haze in his mind. Everything suddenly became clear to him, as he finally comprehended something he had denied himself before.

He was, indeed, special to Legolas, even though to what extent he still did not know. But he would not inquire about that right now. All that mattered now was Legolas, and to savour whatever feeling it was that bonded the golden creature to him, the lost King.

There was someone that cared for him as he was, Aragorn suddenly realized. Someone that even not knowing love, loved him. And not for his merits, but for his faults. Someone that truly admired him, and not as a skilled Ranger or as a noble, but as a mere human. Warmth spread swiftly through Aragorn, suffusing his soul as well as his body in a wave of peace of mind.

Never before had the Man experienced such wonderful feeling. It was oddly exhilarating and soothing at the same time. It was almost like being washed with light rather than water. A purifying feeling. And all the magnificence of that feeling had been brought to life by the mere sight of Legolas's eyes bare in front of his own.

Aragorn's lips twitched upwards, his eyes sparkling. He stood there, immobile in the dazzling light, looking at the ethereal creature nearly glowing in the faint radiance spilling over him from the skies. His hair was like gold; gold spun into threads finer than silk. His pearly skin –as perfect and smooth as porcelain- nearly glimmered, as if he was made of pure glass.

The man's world was composed solely by him and Legolas right now. The soft pain his eyes seemed to carry softened for a moment as he gazed at the flaxen prince, and his face slowly blossomed into a smile, one smile so pure, innocent despite his years and yet so wise, that made his eyes glimmer.

Such a momentous thing it was, one of the Ranger's rare true smiles, and yet it was being gifted to the sky, the only being there with eyes to witness the small miracle. Smiling was difficult for him. He did it so seldom, he had almost forgotten how. Yet the flaxen Elf-man shivering softly beside him touched him in a place he thought dead long ago. Him... only him would ever be allowed that deep inside his soul, that much Aragorn knew. Afterwards, once the treasure that Legolas was would have been reclaimed by the Ocean, the Man would seal that place forever, making his heart a shrine to the human Elf; Legolas. 

_His_ Legolas. 

It was so sweet to call Legolas his, and it seemed so right now, so astonishingly righteous, when just moments before it has seemed a fantasy born of foolishness. 

His Legolas; his, his, his…

"I… I beg your pardon, Aragorn." Legolas said softly, forcing Aragorn's mind back to the present circumstances. "I did not wish to embarrass you. Please forgive my impulsive words and actions if they did, indeed, upset you." A gentle breeze rose, lifting Legolas's hair from his shoulders and dancing it round his lithe body as wings of silvery crystal.

Legolas was scared, Aragorn could feel it clearly in that moment. He was frightened of these human feelings that had been suffusing inside him during their quest and that felt foreign. He needed to be comforted as much as he would have never needed it before the Fellowship. As the Man leaned slightly closer, wishing to provide comfort, he found himself overcome by Legolas' scent. A gentle mixture of vanilla and moonlight, it seemed, and something else, something delicious; ethereal; intoxicating.

Something distinctly Legolas.

It was as if each and every pore of his body secreted a perfume of sorts, a tantalizing scent of freesia and apples, of moonlight and mist and water. Of earth and leaves after the rain. Legolas smelled of all that Aragorn had smelled on him during their journey together. And as the alluring scent filled him, whispering him glimpses of days to come, Aragorn felt the unyielding desire to taste all those things on Legolas's bare skin.

Barely thinking his actions through, the Man found his hand brushing a few strands of Legolas' golden hair off his neck, brushing his fingertips against Legolas's skin as softly as he would rose petals. This action surprised the Prince to some extent, and he stiffened, gasping in a harsher breath, as if he was tensing up in preparation for an oncoming fight.

"Don't be sorry Legolas." Aragorn murmured softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "To speak you mind is the first step to become human." Aragorn moved closer as he spoke, fingering Legolas's ear gently and travelling downwards, his breath wafting across Legolas's pale cheek. Soon Aragorn could feel the Elf's shoulders unwinding with each breezy word he uttered. "You must learn to express your feelings with both your voice and your body, and to never lie to yourself about what you desire. Only then you will be what you yearn to be."

"Express my feeling through my whole countenance?" Legolas questioned softly, leaning into the Man's touch.

"Let your eyes shine when you're glad, and let them darken when you're angered, and when you're caught in your desires. Let your guards down. Let your cheeks tinge, your voice tremble, your tears fall." Aragorn's hand slid across Legolas's neck up to his cheek and back in a tender caress, and the man felt the wild beat of Legolas heart fluttering like the wings of a caged bird. Aragorn suddenly knew what Legolas had discovered during the night they'd spent in each other's arms: their hearts beat in splendid unison, each echoing the other. The sensation sent ecstasy rippling through his body in waves, making tears well in his eyes, though he had not wept in many years.

"The secret of being human is to have no secret at all." Aragorn said softly, overwhelmed by the simple touch. "Be sincere, Legolas, with yourself before than with others. And admit to the World the content of your heart, as often as not." Legolas rubbed his face against his callous hand as a kitten would, out of desire, eyes closed, cheeks suffused with pale rosy, and Aragorn smiled. "What is it, that you desire, Human Elf?" Legolas smiled fondly at the newborn appellation, and then began. 

"What I want…" Legolas halted his speech to let loose a sigh. A sigh that Aragorn afterwards understood to be elicited by his caresses. Legolas looked up, his eyes loosing inside the misty depths of Aragorn's own eyes. "I don't want many things, or better yet I do, but I don't know how to name them yet. But if there's something I really want, it is to be with you, always. To stand by your side until you draw your last breath, Elven Human." Legolas's smile was mirrored back at him, and the Elf closed his hand over the one touching his face. "I want to give you what you gave me. I yearn…" Legolas trailed off, licking his lips, and rose to his feet after placing Aragorn's hand on the Man's broad chest, just above his beating heart. 

"For something that will never be, as you're my Harmony and it would be foolish to hope I'll ever be yours." Legolas looked at the sun for a moment, a long glance in its shortness, and then his eyes aligned back on Aragorn, as one hand was offered to the man to help him stand. "But I long to see you find your own Harmony, and I swear on my endless time and human heart, my Harmony, that I will help you find it." 

The Man allowed the Elf to guide him to his feet, and then watched as the ethereal creature slipped off his grip and ran toward the sun. Once on top of the hill Legolas twirled around, his mantle streaming around him with the sound of gurgling torrents on summer eves. His hair fanned round his body, fair strands getting caught in the light and glittering alluringly. Light seemed to spill from Legolas's form as he stood, motionless under the kiss of the morning. 

Time lost its meaning, slowing down to a crawl, as Legolas's hair wavered a moment more in the breeze before settling down his shoulders like a mantle of translucent gold. Wide blue eyes squinting, Legolas smiled at Aragorn in that timeless hiatus, and the Man felt wonder reclaim his breath to leave him smothered. The hills, woods and river held their breath as the Man and the Elf gazed at each other, one caught in a spell the other was casting without knowing. 

"I swear it Aragorn." Legolas voice came, a butterfly brushing the heavens with silvery wings. "I'll be with you as long as the Sun will shine, and even when she'll be fallen, I'll still be by your side, through the darkness, as your light." At last Legolas moved again, and as he did time regained its usual pace; the wind stirred, bringing forth a small melody of trembling leaves and chirping birds. 

Still smiling, Legolas darted away, slender form moving with the liquid grace of a lovely deer, sliding as if dancing through the oddly bright sunlight. Aragorn did not move to follow the Elf, and would not do it for what seemed aeons to him, caught in moment of awe.

The Man wondered about the small miracle – or great foolishness- that is finding one's Harmony inside another living creature. And to the incredible chance which is being your Harmony's own Harmony. A secret smile curved his lips as he became aware of a profound fact, and he stood, serenity washing over him with the sunlight.

He had already found his Harmony.

It was not, as Legends say, a place or an event, nor it was the impalpable remembrance of it. His Harmony did not reside inside a person, as Legolas's own did. For Aragorn his Harmony _was_ a person, a beautiful Elf of strong will and fair countenance, shockingly real under Aragorn's touches; breathtakingly so.

The Elf did not know it yet, and maybe he wouldn't discover it for a long time to come, but he and Legolas were each other's, Aragorn realized. And whatever it was that bonded them, they'd always be. After his human life would met its end, they would be each other's in the world beyond theirs, and then in the one beyond that, forever.

And with that certainty clear into his mind and warm inside his chest, Aragorn stepped forward, toward the dawning day, following the path that would lead him to where he still did not know, but that would allow him to be with the one thing that mattered to him the most.

Legolas.

His Legolas.

His Harmony.

More than that, even.

Legolas, his…

- Fin.

**_I hope it was as warm and fuzzy to read as it was to write. *chuckles* Incredibly sappy, wasn't it? =) I'd love to hear your thoughts on this small bunch of sweetness, and if you want more, just tell me, and I'll report to my muses. =) _**


	3. Aníron Estel

****

**_Title: _**_Seeking Harmony – part 03 – Aníron Estel (Elven for "I Desire Hope", or "I Desire Aragorn") _

**_Author:_**_ Nemesi. _

**_Disclaimer:_**_ *sighs* I own nothing but the silly theory of the Harmony. All the characters here portrayed are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. _

**_Summary: _**_Amongst the strange feelings holding his heart in a grip there's one that Legolas finally recognizes: jealousy. He's jealous of Aragorn. But why? An unexpected guide comes to show him why he's so jealous, and Legolas finally learns the nature of his feelings for Aragorn… _

**_Notes: _**_*smiles* A HUGE thanks goes to all of you that reviewed my story and encouraged me to go on. ^_^ Also, I apologize to all the fans of exact timelines, but although my story could easily fit into the canon plot somehow, I decided to make this an AU. I've taken some artistic liberties with the timeline and the plot, most notably in that Gandalf and the Three hunters spend some days in the Golden Halls of Rohan, and that some weeks stand between the battle of Helm's Deep and the reconquest of Gondor. ^^ _

**_Rating:_**_ PG-13/R_  
  


* * * * *

_One day it's heaven, one day it's hell   
It's no fairy tale, take it from me   
That's the way it's supposed to be  
You will fly, and you will fall  
God knows even angels fall   
No such thing as you lost it all  
God knows even angels fall. _

**_- Jessica Riddle, "Even Angels Fall" _**

The Golden Halls of Rohan were a marvel of white and gold. The glimmering snowy walls arched into a high ceiling that seemingly wanted to reach out to heaven, finely chiselled columns stood still and proud as ancients knights, shimmering under the light spilling from above. The magnificent dining room was gleaming, and servants hurried across rivers of light to attend the King's guests at their table: the Three hunters and Gandalf Greyhame.

Legolas didn't quite feel at ease, and kept scanning his surrounding nervously as if feeling like his impending doom was looming within the light. Trying to banish his discomfort Legolas told himself no danger was lurking in such splendour, like it hadn't since their arrival some days before. Yet, even as he tried get rid of his unease, it took him every ounce of his willpower to release the breath he didn't know he was holding in.

In his wonder Legolas rested his eyes a long moment on the proud form of the Aragorn, sitting opposite him just few seats further toward the end of the table. And the Elf was left breathless when the Man turned and their eyes met. Aragorn smiled at his comrade, but the Elf did not see it, for as soon as they gazes had met, he'd whipped his head around and down, a distressed flush claiming his cheeks.

Aragorn narrowed his eyes at the Elf's antics. He'd noticed Legolas's growing discomfort in the past days, but even though he knew better than question him, he couldn't banish his growing worry. Careful not to be noticed the Man shifted slightly in his seat to better face the Elf, his eyes never leaving his lithe form.

The Prince of Mirkwood could feel Aragorn's eyes on him, and his heart skipped a beat. It had never happened before, and Legolas pressed a hand to his chest, scared, yet trying to feign nonchalance. Was he falling ill? It could not be, for Elves did not catch diseases. Yet he worried. Sensations he'd never felt before ran through him in waves, and the Elf reacted with silent wonder and small trembles. He did not felt at ease. Not ever, when Aragorn was near. His heart pounded so wildly Legolas feared anyone around them could hear, and yet a quick glance at the other guests told him it was not so.

What was it? What was it? What were those alien sensations claiming his mind and body and heart? Legolas did not understand. Again he was lost in a plethora of answerless questions, just like when Boromir had died, but this time the only one he knew could help him was the very cause of his distress, and source of wonder. Aragorn blinked, sensing clearly that his friend was struggling with a some kind of inner turmoil, and bit his bottom lip as he struggled not to ask, wishing desperately to be asked for help.

At the end of the table, the Lady Éowyn brought a finger up to her lips in a silent gesture of wonder. Catching a glimpse of the exchange between her guests at the corner of her eyes, she'd turned her gaze toward the Prince of Mirkwood a little wonderingly. Her eyes flashed with some unnamed emotion, and widened briefly, before narrowing again. Her eyes were somewhat distant, and a bystander could be fooled into describing her gaze as cold, but emotions rippled in the bottom of her eyes, dancing like the currents of the Ocean. Understanding, realization, kindness, sympathy; pity even. Admiration, sadness and affection. But none of those emotion would be voiced, and she averted her gaze and took a small sip from her golden cup.

Then, the doom Legolas had been expecting came.

Théoden the King beckoned to his guests they could leave the table, if they wished. Éomer immediately stood, and bowed low to Aragorn before clasping his forearm and guiding him to his feet in all thoroughness. A sharp intake of a breath pinpointed Legolas's reaction to the sight, and Éowyn's eyes narrowed at her brother's behaviour.

"Aragorn son of Aratorn, I missed you much during our parting. With my King's permission I readied a chamber where we can spar, if you please, and cross our swords before letting them sing together in the battlefields." Aragorn's eyes gleamed, and Legolas's heart constricted when the Man accepted the invitation gratefully and excused himself from the other guests without much of a glance at him.

Both Gimli and Gandalf glanced worriedly at their Elf companion when a small sniffle came from his direction, but Legolas had ducked his head, letting his hair fall like curtain and hide his face from his friends' scrutiny. He'd been asked, plainly, to never touch Aragorn in such fashion; to stay as far from him as possible while in front of other Men. Why was Éomer free to, then? Gandalf had told Legolas rumours could spread; malevolent lies and unproductive marvelling could be born if Aragorn and the Prince of Mirkwood kept lying together, singing to each other and sharing hugs and touches as often as they could. Albeit painfully Legolas had agreed to distance himself from the Man, confused, yet conscious it was for Aragorn's sake. But the Man seemed to care not for the sudden change in Legolas's behaviour, and this nonchalance of his troubled Legolas more than the distance itself.

Abruptly, Legolas rose to his feet, announcing that he felt fatigued from the day's antics and that he would be taking a stroll in the gardens to find solace in the beauty of nature. Then, wordlessly, he headed off, out of the room and as far from the aching inside him as his legs could carry him. Gimli and Gandalf shared a look then, a long, worried look, both knowing the cause of Legolas distress and both wondering how to cure him. In her seat, Éowyn closed her eyes, sighing almost inaudibly, for she too knew.

A tear was halfway down her cheek, and Legolas already out of sight, when Éowyn rose, gliding through the light as if weightless, and left the Dwarf and the Wise to their silent worry to locate and aid the elven Prince.

And locate and aid him she did.

* * *

The dining room's doors closed behind him and in an instant, Legolas's calm façade shattered, his pacing evolving into running. Instinctively, he covered his face with one hand, attempting to stop the tears that were just beginning to sting the back of his lowered eyelids. But he knew that – no mutter how far he went, how swiftly he ran, for him there was no place to hide. For what chased him, scaring him even, was inside of him.

The Elf ran blindly down the course until he crashed, violently, against the breastwork on the upper walls. He leaned fully against it wishing, desperately, to be out of breath, but, inexorably, his breathing was steady and even. He would force irregular mouthfuls of air down his throat then, feigning breathlessness, and burning moisture gathered behind his closed eyelids when even such last resort proved vain.

Legolas wasn't mortal.

He would never be.

Overhead clouds fled at his sight and sunlight bared its fangs at the Elf as his breaths caught and rose in the cool air. Every breath he took –be it slow or forcefully uneven- made his chest and eyes burn. The air felt suddenly heavier, almost as though the sky itself was descending upon him. The parapet seemed to loom taller than it had first looked to him, casting oddly long and cold shadows upon him when he could have easily looked over it to the plains below few moment before.

The breeze blew again, echoing like rushing water in his ears, and gracefully swaying tendrils of gold rose to dance with the wind. Legolas took a deep breath in, willing his heart to stop aching. He held his breath for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut before letting it out in a loud sigh. The Elf opened his cerulean eyes just a crack, looking at the dark shadow lapping his feet, and it was in that moment that he saw he'd slid down almost to his knees, knuckles still white around the edges of the breastwork, arms stretched above his head painfully.

Unable to support himself any longer, Legolas felt all of his muscles sag without warning. His knees finally connected to the ground, his forehead rested on the breastwork, and yet he could not uncurl his fingers, instead tightening his grip until he felt burning scratch appear on his palms.

He couldn't understand! What was the feeling claiming him so strongly, filling his heart and mind with ache? It could not be… it could not be… and yet in his confusion Legolas was left with only one certainty. He was jealous. Jealous. Jealous. But why? It had never happened before. Not even when he'd seen the Lady Arwen pledge her life to Aragorn her Lord. He'd felt something then, but the icy grip clenching his heart now was different than the dull pang, the wondering feeling, the brief brush of cold he'd felt then. It was as if a different person was inside of him.

And Legolas did not like this other person, if all of its emotion would pain him so much.

Distraught, Legolas ducked his head, allowing his hair to slide forward and obscure his features, and heaved a weary sigh. He was tired of this silent clashes taking place inside of him. Tired of the voices in his head, tired of fighting, tired of everything in general. Tired of needing someone he could not…

"Master Elf?" Legolas's back straightened with seemingly painful quickness, and he whipped around, surprise and distress mixing over his fine features. When Éowyn's grave countenance met his eyes, he felt himself shiver. Whishing to have some control of his actions, Legolas twisted his head away, letting golden tendrils fall as a curtain to hide his dismayed features from the woman's eyes. Only afterwards, when the silence had become unbearable, he fought to stand, and let his gaze flicker over the misty outlines of the faraway mountains.

At this point Éowyn moved too, walking toward him as he fought to keep from further showing his suffering. Finally she stopped, hands clasped together against her bosom. She was so close to the Prince that her vest brushed lightly against his legs, yet she relented touching him, and he was grateful for that. Taking a deep breath in Legolas glanced at the Lady out of the corner of his eye. She had come seeking him out because she wanted to help. It wasn't hard to sense, but simply too hard to accept. Legolas was too proud to ever seek aid, lest of all when his soul and heart were concerned.

Legolas's back straightened with a shiver. Heart…?

He turned away from her, hoping she'd leave him his solitude. She didn't. But if he was expecting her to tell him in honeyed tones of how he should stifle his distress for the sake of their quest, he was disappointed.

"Tell him how much he means to you," her voice was soft, barely audible even, but on Legolas it had the effect of a battle cry. Startled, he turned toward her, and Éowyn fixed him eyes so intense that seemed to hold worlds in them. "For he won't know until you admit it – to yourself before than to him." He let out his breath, only then realizing that he'd been holding it.

"Aragorn?" Legolas's voice was genuinely dubious, as if he'd never even considered the notion before. "He's my king and comrade. I care for him for certain, and he knows." The woman flickered her gaze over the flaxen Elf, unable –or unwilling- to suppress the glint of amusement in her eyes. 

"Is he the one your heart thinks I was speaking of?" Legolas looked away, and following his lead Éowyn turned her gaze eastwards. 

Heart… 

It was in that moment that, low down under the walls, Aragorn came into view. He had entered the gardens while discussing animatedly with Éomer about some issue or another, and Legolas's eyes widened at the sight. The Elf studied the Man's ragged beauty for a long moment as he came to a stop directly under the walls Legolas was on, while the Lady beside him shifted her gaze carefully from one to the other in silence.

At last Legolas nodded, not meeting the Lady's eyes yet. 

"Aragorn is…" Legolas hesitated and moment, and then began again, his tongue tracing a wet line across his lips. "Aragorn is the only one in the World who understands me completely, and I love him dearly, like a brother, but even more. He's the one I'd follow into the very fires of Mordor: my friend, my brother, my Liege. The one who holds all my trust and thoughts. He's…" It has been like the mere sight of Aragorn had summoned words he could not find before to his lips, but now hesitance made itself known inside Legolas' voice. The Lady Éowyn glanced at him, a small glance, as if expecting to see the cause of his uncertainty chiselled within his eyes, but the Elf still wouldn't look at her.

"Is the Elven Legend of the Harmony known in these lands, my Lady?" Legolas questioned at last, and the small nod he caught with a brief glance at her was all that he needed to go on. "Aragorn… Aragorn is my Harmony." Her eyes widening briefly Éowyn leaned slightly forward, and Legolas forced himself to relax: the golden Lady of Rohan wasn't the enemy. "Since the day I discovered this he became my teacher in my quest to understand human's emotion, correcting me with kindness and always willing to take me back with a smile if I ever stray. But now…" Suddenly Legolas's voice sounded so weak, so tiny. A nearly inaudible cracked sob. He shivered under Éowyn's pale blue gaze, chest heaving arduously as he inhaled through sharp gulps of air. What had Aragorn taught him? _Be sincere, Legolas, with yourself before than with others. And admit to the World the content of your heart, as often as not. _ "Now… I'm lost inside my heart, for I don't know what it is that I feel anymore." He said after a breathless pause.

Legolas fell silent for a moment, then. Trees willowed and fluttered in the slight breeze, and faraway birds chirped in discordance to the new wave of gravity that had fallen over the Elf and the Woman. Golden hair rose in the breeze and fell across the Lady's visage, clouding over her eyes as she gazed unseeingly at the horizon. At last she spoke, and when she did her voice was slow and even.

"I think, Master Elf, that you choose but a poor teacher, for Aragorn forgot to teach you the most important lesson about human's feelings. The most sacred and painful; the very one lesson he should have taught you first. It seems that you're learning it though, but I foreseen grief for you if you're to learn this lesson on your own." Legolas turned toward her, eyes wide and lips parted as he searched for words to defend Aragorn, but he soon gave up and turned away again, aware that Éowyn's eyes fell on him as soon as he turned.

"I asked him to teach me, but sometimes the lessons we most desire bring us enough pain to kill." Éowyn acknowledged this with a nod, her hands clenching tighter together.

"You speak true words, noble Elf, but I still hope that you could come to know this lesson in any other way but this." His grip tightened on the edge of the parapet and nodded her his permission to go, to explain him and teach him, willing now to accept the help she was offering him.

"You love him." She said at last, and albeit certain her voice sounded pained. Its power reached into his very soul. It was not loud, but soft; not commanding, but pleading; not angry, but firm; impossible to ignore, as if it held the ring of truth. Legolas focused on her, blue eyes doubtful.

"I do." He said carefully. "He's dear to me, and he knows it." Éowyn shook her head, dismayed, and the Elf paused in is speech.

"Elves, it's said, know only one kind of love. They love both nature and other living creatures as they love themselves. The sharing of a song with the trees of a wood is no less to them than the sharing of their soul with another. Yet, for humans, there are two kinds of love. The love you're speaking of, Master Legolas, is what we human call Affection. But the other kind of love, the one that has no other name but its own, but that we can name Passion, it's what really binds you to Aragorn." The Lady Éowyn paused, grave, and Legolas could only stare at her, aghast. Passion? Love was… different from affection?! His eyes fell immediately on Aragorn, but for some reason he couldn't bare to look at him, not right now, and turned back toward Éowyn in surprise and wonder.

The Lady had turned to the pair in the garden now, and as she spoke her eyes remained trained on them, as if hypnotized.

"You've no shame in admitting that you love him, and for this I'm glad. But now you must endure a further admission to really learn the lesson you yearn for. You do not only love him, Master Elf, but you're in love with him also, and always will if he's your Harmony as you told me." Legolas eyes grew wide, and he looked down at his hands, then at Aragorn, small trembles wracking his body. Love…? Such a possibility had never entered his thoughts. _I'm in love with… Aragorn?_ He felt a knot form in his throat and clenched his fists.

Aragorn and him shared a bond that ran deeper than any friendship, any brotherly love, any lovers' affair. Aragorn was Legolas's Harmony too, and this made him even special to the Elf. In fact Legolas couldn't bear to think of a life without the Man. The sudden realization that Aragon was, after all, mortal and would have to leave him one day, stabbed his heart with incredible force and Legolas reeled back a step, as if physically wounded.

Aragorn was the most loyal friend he'd ever had. And something more than that. He was the reason why he'd decided to take part on the Quest for destroying the Ring in the first place. The reason why he'd stood up against Boromir at the Council, mindless of the rage he could stir in the Man or the shame he could bring on his own Reign. Aragorn was the reason why he'd kept on fighting; the reason why he kept on believing, because with him by his side Legolas felt like everything was and would always be all right.

But whenever Aragorn was near now feelings different from the affection and admiration and friendship he'd always felt for him stirred inside the Elf. Only thinking about the Man made his heartbeat speed up. His vision ruled his dreams and had done so since they had first met in Imrails so long ago…

Was that love? Did _that_ count as love?

Yes…

Yes, it did.

That was the truth. He'd fallen in love with Aragorn. He'd felt affection for him, an almost brotherly kind of love… but he hadn't known desire and passion until he'd seen the depths of the Man's heart after Boromir's death.

As realization swept through him Legolas felt refreshed, purified, renewed. And yet he felt dirty. He'd betrayed Aragorn with his feelings, and the knowledge the Elf himself hadn't been conscious of them did not lessen the guilt. One of Legolas's hands rose and stretched toward Aragorn, as if in a mute call, and the Man's name left his lips in the form of whisper. Aragorn loved him, this much Legolas knew, but Aragorn loved him the same way he loved any of his comrades. But Legolas couldn't help –or change- how he felt. He loved Aragorn. The Man, the Ranger, the leader, the King, everything he was, had been and would ever be. This time tears won their struggle for freedom and one quivering drop leaked down his cheeks, and the Lady Éowyn felt guilt surge in her heart. She'd stirred grief inside of the Elf. A feeling that was lethal for those of his kin, and she found herself hoping Legolas was different from other Elves.

Almost if sensing Legolas's gaze on him Aragorn glanced up at last, and upon seeing the Elf gazing out him a radiant smile curved up his lips. A smile Legolas couldn't restrain from mirroring, thankful for the great distance that stood between them and masked, somehow, his tears. But Aragorn felt them, even without seeing them, and his expression turned pained. Slowly he raised his hand, letting his thumb slide down through the air softly, as though drying Legolas's tears despite the distance. And the Elf tipped his head, leaning into a touch he couldn't be feeling and yet shuddering at it. 

It's all right, Legolas told himself, and suddenly tears were gone, and his eyes were as dry as if they'd never known the moisture of tears in all his life. In the gardens Aragorn angled his head slightly, sensing the minute change in the Elf, and dropped his hand. A servant entered the gardens then, and told something to Aragorn who immediately glanced at him, then back at Legolas, before smiling to the Elf and going back inside the Castle. 

Aragorn disappeared in a lurking shadow, and Legolas released the breath he was holding. It was not all right, it would never be. He wanted to run, but he couldn't. And in a moment of peculiar clarity he saw it wouldn't have changed anything. It was too late for him, and now he knew.

"I love Aragorn." He admitted a last, so softly that the Lady Éowyn almost didn't hear him. "I'm in love with him." And for the first time that truly felt wrong. Éowyn placed a comforting hand on his face, and Legolas looked down at her with sad eyes.

"Will you be all right?" she questioned gently, and for the first time Legolas was aware of the countless emotions wafting by her seemingly cold gaze. Pressing a hand to his chest Legolas bowed his head, caught in a magnificent feeling of awe and respect for the golden Lady in front of him.

"I will be." He assured, and she smiled at him, the first smile to graze her features in days. A smile that died swiftly, when the Elf spoke again. "But my feelings for him are wrong."

"Feelings are never right or wrong." She retorted with gentle severity. "They just are."

"Yet I must forget him."

"Why?" She questioned, her features darkening in a frown.

"Because he will reject my love if he ever gains knowledge of it, and even if I'm told I'm strong within my kin, I could not bear to lose him: not now that I know I love him. I'd rather be merely a friend to him till the end of his life than risk what we have."

"Do you think so lowly of him?" Éowyn was surprised, and Legolas smiled at her.

"No. I think highly enough of him to know he'd never accept my feelings if they could go against Gondor's sake. And he also loves another, and her happiness come first to him, as it is right." Taking Éowyn's hand away from his face Legolas touched his lips to her soft skin. Asking the mute permission to keep holding her hand he guided her back inside, to where Théoden and Gandalf were having counsel.

"Don't deny yourself love, Master Legolas, I plead you." Éowyn said at last. "And don't let your eyes wander far from your own self when searching for the object of Aragorn's affection." Legolas smiled, but the meaning of it was for him alone to know, as well as the deepest meaning of Éowyn's words was known just to her.

Later that day, when Gandalf, Théoden her King and the Three Hunters took their leave from Rohan at the head of three-thousand horsemen, Éowyn stood in front of the Golden Hall's doors, a glittering sword thrust in the ground before her.

Tears were in her eyes as they disappeared into the dawning light, and while most of her tears were for her King, her bother, and Aragorn her impossible love, some were for the Elf and for the painful feelings he held. And when Legolas looked up one last time, smiling gloriously up at her, she raised one of her hands in wave, and let her tears fall.

Legolas wanted to forget Aragorn. And even thought Legolas was her rival for her beloved's affection, Éowyn found herself praying the Valar to stop such a thing from happening. For she felt –she knew- that more than one heart would break if Legolas were to succeed.

Aragorn's own before than any other.

- TBC

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**_*scratches back of head* Legolas was too emotional and… naive, wasn't he? Gawds, sorry, I ended up making him lame… @_@ Well, I still hope that all you liked (and will review!!) this part. ^_^ Since I think I left things hanging this time, I'm already working on a sequel… see you in the next chapter! ^_^ _**


	4. There and Back Again

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**_Title: _**_Seeking Harmony – part 04 – There and Back Again. _

**_Author:_**_ Nemesi. _

**_Disclaimer:_**_ *sighs* I own nothing but the silly theory of the Harmony. All the characters here portrayed are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. _

**_Summary:_**_ Legolas decides something must be done about his growing feelings for the future King of Gondor. Will Aragorn be able to bear Legolas's countermeasures? _

**_Notes: _**_Thanks to all who reviewed this, especially to those who reviewed my story more than once. You reviews mean a lot to me, more than I will ever be able to say. ^_^ I can only hope you all will like this chapter as much as you liked the previous ones. ^^ _

**_Notes -take 2:_**_ The song Legolas sings to Aragorn is "I'm the Wind" from Soundtrack of the PSX Game "Castlevania". This chapter may be a bit sad, even sadder than the previous one, but I just **love** happy endings… *winks* _

**_Rating:_**_ PG-13/R_  
  


* * * * *

_To hear you say my name, to see you search my eyes  
To feel you touch my hand, it more than satisfies   
If I was not the first, just say I'll be the last   
It's too much to expect, but it's not too much to ask   
Now I can only dream of being all you need   
I can only try to be the reason why   
You think about today and forget about the past   
It's too much to expect, but it doesn't hurt to ask   
It's too much to expect, but it's not too much to ask _

__

**_- Not Too Much To Ask, Mary-Chapin Carpenter _**

_But if of ships I now should sing, what ship would come to me,__  
What ship would bear me ever back across so wide a Sea?_

**_- Song of Galadriel – The Fellowship of the Ring - _**

He was there again, like all the previous nights.

Standing in the scattered field where only days before the Men of Gondor and Rohan had faced the toughest battle of their lives.

He was there again, looking up at the few, small windows of Minas Tirith in hope to catch a glimpse of the King's shape outlined against the torches light.

Legolas watched the full Moon glittering high above him, silvery wisps of clouds drifting gently on unseen currents of air. The sky peering down through the clouds in lakes was painted with darkened blue, dimming to deep purples as the eye travelled toward the faraway peaks, and scatted with stars. The river lapped gently at his feet, not quite touching, almost not daring to. The cool breeze of night caressed his skin with equal carefulness. 

He looked strangely fitting just standing there: the Elf and the moonlight blended perfectly, as though he was just slightly more substantial than everything else around him. He'd always thought twilight to be sad and lonesome, created only to provide shelter to whoever needed conceal, be it to hunt or to weep. And in the last few weeks, he had grown to savour those shadows and welcome them as old friends.

Because from them he could watch over Aragorn without being seen, or heard or felt, just as he wished. Because under their protection he wouldn't have to fight the tears that inevitably came as he gazed upon his Harmony, so close to him and yet outside his reach. Because in their conceiving spell Aragorn's eyes could not see him, and widen in surprise, or narrow in anger, as they would surely do.

Legolas felt content just to stand on that sandy shore, watching the Moon glittering in both the sky and the river, with the soft winds gently blowing his hair, feeling as part of his surroundings as he'd ever do. But the dark rocky shape of the Capital of Men stood behind him, still and statuesque and mysterious, calling out to him in mute fashion, and after the briefest moment of peace, his thoughts became haunted.

Pushing a strand of his golden hair behind his left ear, Legolas tipped his head to the side, and the shadowed shape of Minas Tirith was there, towering and sorrowful, like a gravestone. Turning back around Legolas met the blurred reflection of his eyes in the waters, wondering at the pain and sadness he saw in them. Slowly he knelt down, and fingered the face reflected off the river. Concentric ripples danced around the points of contact, sending flickers of light to lighten his eyes.

How long had it been since those very eyes had last flickered over Aragorn? How long had it been since those pointy ears had caught the husky whisper of the Man's voice? How long… how long had those lips dreamed to touch the Ranger's, nai, the King's? But the blue eyes would not answer, silent, obscure, only reflecting the sky above. Showing burning sadness and no trace of hope.

_//Let it go…//_ he told himself firmly, like he had done a billion times since he'd left. _//I did it for him. I did it to spare him any pain. I did it because I love him, while I can't. Because I love him, while he doesn't. Let it go, Legolas. Just let it go.// _

"I chose this," he whispered, unable to stop the pleading note in his voice, talking to someone who was not there, if not in the depths of his memories. "And I do not regret it. But as I told you once, my Lady, just too often the lessons we desire to learn the most hurt us enough to kill." When still the eyes would not respond Legolas splashed his hand across his reflection, and watched it ripple and dance for a moment. Then he stood and looked up at the sky once again, knowing that he was but merely running away, and trying to desperately convince himself he wasn't.

Hurt, confused, more human in that mere moment than most of the creatures sleeping in the arms of Minas Tirith, Legolas closed his eyes, parted his lips, and let his sadness be painted into sound. His song flew. Flew on silvery winds across the skies, and as he listened to his own pained voice, the Elf could do nothing to stop the flood of memories…

* * * * *

The riders had found a place where to camp at last, and stopped, grateful for the chance of getting some refresh. The road back from Isengard was long, and they had ridden in haste, so the prospective of a night of rest was welcomed by many –especially the two Hobbits retrieved from Orthanc- with relief. Fires were lit, bread was shared, and pale yellow and ruby wine flowed as the Men's spirits lifted. 

The hour was late, and night swept over the fields as the Moon tiptoed across the sky, its pale light chasing retreating pools of darkness across the grassy ground. As each minute flew by, another head laid down on its padding to rest. All too soon silence filled the air like mist. Dreams rouse to visit the sleeping, while nightmares crawled to the waking ones.

It was one of those night in which amazing things could happen; one of those nights in which history could be written in front of the eyes of the few present to witness it. And the chance was taken indeed, for a new chapter of the life of Aragorn, the Lost King of Gondor, was being written, without him knowing, by one that loved him more than life itself.

Around one of the fires scattered across the fields five figures had huddled, and now stood silently, trading glances. Their breath rose into the blue in small white puffs. Pastel light illuminated their features as unease rose among them. The silence wasn't soothing in that one corner of the camp. Rather, it was oppressive. The wind picked up, bringing forth the scent of tempest, and dark clouds hovered overhead, almost as if to warn them to go to sleep, and postpone their acting, but the warning was ignored.

Surreal as the scene before them was -- the pillars of silvery light that spilled across the fields from patches in the cloud-sheet above, the opalescent gleam reflected off of the gushing river nearby, the anticipatory hum in the atmosphere, the whisper of the wind among the faraway trees – the small assemblage lose concentration at the mere sight of Legolas.

Fair he was, and venerable he looked in the way he moved. Slowly, gracefully, and yet as if weighted with ancient pain. Around him, drawn in a semi-circle, the remnants of the Fellowship of the Ring, all but Aragorn, stood in nervousness. Pippin's fingers curled in his shirt, and he remained silent for one more moment, gathering what courage was needed to shatter the silence, before going back to worrying the rim of his tunic.

"Legolas…" the Hobbit glanced briefly at the direction in which Aragorn had disappeared earlier, all but aching to see the Man come back and stop this nonsense.

Now.

Legolas had secured his bow and was checking the knives resting in the scabbard strapped onto his back when he looked up at the Hobbit, a brief glance, before bending down to check the contents of his bag.

"Yes, Master Pippin?" Pippin focused back on the Elf, even though he glanced toward the faraway campfire where he'd last seen Aragorn a couple of times.

"I… you… are you sure you have to?" He blurted out. Legolas smiled, even though what good it could be with Pippin behind him, he was not sure.

"Indeed I have."

"But…" the Hobbit bounced slightly on his toes, restless. "It's so… sudden!" Next to him Merry was quick to agree.

"More than sudden!" The other Hobbit countered, nodding fervently. "All was well when we were dinning!" Legolas rose to his feet, and draped his grey cloak around his neck.

"That was the last meal I would share with you, I did not want to weight your hearts with the knowledge of my departure." The Elf brought two fingers up to his mouth, and blew around them, producing a brisk whistle.

As if generated from the mist Arod, the horse Théoden had let Legolas ride during their campaign, came striding up to the Elf, his mane woven of the moonlight itself. The beast skipped to an halt in front of Legolas, and when the Elf patted his muzzle affectionately, Arod whinnied loudly.

"I'll send my friend Arod back to his Master Théoden as soon as I reach my destination, whatever it will be, and let him bear tidings of my journey if I'll reckon that wise."

"You don't have to." Gandalf interjected quietly. "I already asked the King, and he agreed gladly. Arod is yours now: a present from Rohan to Mirkwood in sign of friendship." Legolas glanced up at him, a smile on his lips.

"I… thank you, Mithradir." The Elf turned, and gently ran his fingertips down Arod's neck. The stallion leaned into the touch gladly, thumping his nose gently against Legolas's chest. "His presence is sure to ease my loneliness." In the moments of stillness that followed, Legolas felt like they all would hear his heart breaking, and he bit his lip slightly, feeling that there was something more he should say, but not finding the voice to.

"I… suppose I'd better go now." He said at last. "I should ride with the night."

"That would be prudent, indeed." Gandalf agreed quietly. Nodding, Legolas went to hoist his small baggage onto Arod's back. Behind him Gimli opened his mouth, then closed it, and turning his head he tried to nonchalantly rub his eyes. Merry had his eyes pined to the ground, and he thought he'd go crazy if the crackle of the air being sucked in and then squeezed out his own fists as he clenched an unclenched them wouldn't stop echoing in the camp. Pippin kept shifting from foot to foot, sniffling now and again. At last the younger Hobbit took a step forward, hands clasped together behind his back, tracing small circles in the mud with a toe as he struggled for words.

"I… I really wish you wouldn't leave us, Master Legolas." He said, feeling hoarse. "I don't want you to go away like Frodo and Sam and… and… and like Boromir did."

Legolas glanced at his young friend over his shoulder, hands paused over his baggage. Sensing the little one's distress Legolas turned fully, fair features lit up with a smile.

"Pippin… I'm not dying." He said softly. "I'm not leaving you forever. I'm just going back to Mirkwood, nothing more. So…" Legolas dropped on his knees in front of Pippin, who was quickly losing his battle with his sobs. "One day, when the Shadow in the East will be banished, if you'll still wish to see me, we'll meet again." Pippin sank his teeth into his bottom lip and, not knowing what else to do, nodded slowly. When Legolas made to rise, though, the Hobbit jumped forward and wrapped his arms around the surprised Elf, barely keeping himself from squeezing too tight.

"Good luck, Master Legolas."

"To you too, my friend." Legolas whispered back, putting his own arms around Pippin and

squeezing gently.

"I still don't understand why you're doing this." Merry queried in a whisper, he too stepping closer to the Elf.

"It's because…" Legolas let go of Pippin and stood gracefully, turning back toward his steed. The Elf's hand rose to pat Arod's nose affectionately, and he neighed lowly in reply, one of his hoofs knocking against the grassy ground. Unconsciously Legolas ducked his head, so that his hair would slide forward and further conceal his visage as he hauled himself onto Arod's back. His moves were heavy and dawdling, incredibly different from the light, fluid flow the ones of his kin moved with. It seemed he'd had a sudden weight dropped onto his shoulders, but it looked like he wouldn't dare pausing long enough to shrug it off. "…I need to. Have to."

Pippin had walked backwards until his shoulder had bumped into Merry's, and his cousin's arm was now curled around him. The Hobbits traded worried looks, and then glanced up at their other companions, pleadingly. Gimli heaved a sigh, and took a step forward, shaking his head.

"Surely." He said soberly. "We could find another solution. My words indeed will seem rude to you, but they need speaking: running away never helps. It is but work of cowardice, and usually complicates matters rather than lead to their solution. I surely expected you, of all people, to understand such a simple concept as this."

"I know." Legolas spoke softly, guilt wafting by his eyes. "Yet you've to realize, my friend, that sometimes running away is not a matter of cowardice. Rather it may be an act of courage." To that, Gimli had no reply, and he merely nodded, eyes downcast. After a pause he rubbed harshly his nose with the back of a broad hand, and then looked back up at the Elf. "I still wish to show you The Caverns of Helm's Deep, Legolas, and I'm willing to visit Fangor with you, if that's the price to pay to see my wish granted. I will reckon the words you gave Pippin as meant for all of us then, and wait for us to meet again." Legolas bowed his head.

"But…" Pippin began then, clasping and unclasping his hands as he stared up at Legolas. "What about Strider? I thought you lov—"

"Please, don't." Legolas said, tilting his head harshly toward the Hobbit, yet not finding the courage to turn fully. "Right now I can't…" He broke off and whipped around, knuckles turning white as he clenched his hands. He closed his eyes as a gust of wind ruffled his clothes and hair. A brief, awkward silence descended on the party as they stood in the near-silence of the evening.

The Hobbits knew.

Legolas didn't know how, or why, but they knew. Did everyone know, then? Gimli, Gandalf, Éomer… did they know? Did _Aragorn_ know? Shock claimed the Elf as he pondered the prospective. Surely he hadn't been that obvious, had he? No… he knew his behaviour toward Aragorn had not changed since the days in which friendship was all that bonded him to the Man. He was more secretive now, if anything. Less talkative, more thoughtful. He'd grown somewhat colder, somehow more reserved. Those shields of cold emotions he'd used to conceal his feelings hadn't turned into hints to reveal then, had they? But how… how did the Hobbits know, then? Why?

A long, electric shiver made his back arch slightly, and he reached out and down, hands clasping Arod's neck blindly as he gazed at the ground. Legolas heaved a sigh. Like a curtain closing, a tendril of golden hair fell over his shoulder and hid his features. Again questions rose in his mind. Over and over again, wherever he turned his eyes and ears to, Legolas would find only questions and no answers.

He'd never expected love to be so complicated, or so painful.

"Legolas…" They all swivelled around at the sound of a new voice, and indeed it was Aragorn. The man flickered wide eyes over the assemblage in surprise, registering with a note of concern how each person would advert his gaze. At last he focused on Legolas, and albeit the Elf did not turn away the unease just swelled inside the Man. He took in the Elf's current position, and his eyes widened, the corner of his lips twitching nervously. Why was Legolas mounting Arod, Aragorn wondered, his baggage hoisted on the horse's back as if ready to leave and—

Oh, Gods…

"Legolas," he breathed again, voice all but gone, lips twitching helplessly up and down as he tried to smile. "I see that… you're about to…" the Man licked his lips. "…go scouting, and for your concern I'm grateful, but 'tis indeed late to run such errands, my friend. Why don't you dismount Arod to join us at the campfire? The night's cold and--"

"I'm leaving, Aragorn." Legolas told him softly, but the Man couldn't -would not let himself- hear him, and refusing to acknowledge the shivers now wracking his body he went on, huskily.

"—and surely you can wait till the morning to go and attend to whatever mission you put upon yourself."

"Aragorn…" the Man's fists clenched, his trembling smile fading, and his nails dug into his palms painfully, drawing blood.

"Your errand is surely not that pressing--"

"…Aragorn…"

"I'm sure it can wait. It would be dangerous to ride alone and--"

"…I'm leaving."

"—and whatever it is that you must do, it can surely wait for the morning so that I can join you." He said at last, and then closed his mouth, astonished at the mere sound of his voice. Surely that cracked whisper hadn't been his?

Legolas shook his head, pain wafting by his eyes.

"No. I'm going, Aragorn. Alone. Now." Aragorn's eyes narrowed, and misty grey became ice. Two long strides took him to Arod's side, and when he looked up at Legolas the Man's arm curled around the beast's neck: an affectionate gesture into which Arod leaned, but also a mean to hold his rider back. The Elf did not miss that.

"Why?" Legolas drew his lips back into a small smile, and then parted them, but it was Gandlaf's voice to resound.

"Pressing errands are summoning him back to Mirkwood. Prince Legolas is needed in his native Kingdom now, and he's in haste to leave. Surely you understand he has to go, whether we wish him to or not." Though spoken softly the words held power, and would not admit replies or questions. Legolas merely nodded under Aragorn's inquisitive gaze. Gimli and Merry shifted uneasily, troubled by such an open lie, both aware of the unspoken reason that was forcing Legolas to leave. Pippin bit his bottom lip, shivering in the Wise's shadow. It seemed to have stretched to a bizarre length when he spoke, almost as if Gandalf himself had grown taller.

_Poor Aragorn… _the small Hobbit thought. _Poor Legolas… poor all of us…_

The Man shook his head slowly, lips parted around words he could not voice, eyes wide and alight with denial.

"You can't…" he whispered in an exhalation. Legolas smile grew, and so did its painful quality. The Elf gingerly reached down and gently brushed Aragorn's arm away from Arod's neck, careful not to touch the Man's tanned skin. In his shock Aragorn did not protest, nor react, when his arm was moved, and he let his hand fall limply at his side.

"You can't leave. I… We need you." But Legolas would not answer; would not move. He just stared at the Man, eyes half-lidded and saddened. "Are you going to drift away, like wind? To slid through my fingers like mere sand? You can't… you… you promised, and…" Aragorn's eyes burned. All the touches they'd shared, all the words spoken… had they been just lies? The most sacred moments of the Lost King's life were just that? Lies spoken in the midst of some cruel game, or without enough thinking? But Legolas… Aragorn had though…

Aragorn blinked, head shaking and eyes lowering to the ground as doubt hit him. _What_ had he though, exactly? Flashes of silken hair and warm hands had filled his dreams and his reality for weeks. Dreams of an eternity spent by Elf's side had become his daily companions, but…

_What_ had he thought?

_What_ exactly did he _want_?

"You promised." He murmured at last. "You can't leave." Legolas closed his eyes, his expression bleak as his heart broke yet again. His head bowed a little, and he briefly shut his eyes tighter. Another silence befell the clearing, the usual nighttimes sounds gone. Even the trees, which had been rustling in the breeze as if trembling in anticipation, had gone still under loads of silence. At last Legolas opened his eyes and spoke, his voice strangely young and vulnerable.

"I have to." Aragorn looked up, betray and hurt alike in his gaze. Legolas felt the burning prick of tears in his eyes, and as he closed them some quivering droplets escaped to shine on his lashes. Torn by unnamed pain – a pain Aragorn did not seem able to acknowledge nor understand, caught as he was in his own- Legolas painted his farewell into song.

_I can pretend   
I am the wind   
And I don't know if I will pass this way again   
All things must end  
Goodbye, my friend  
Think of me when you see the sun or feel the wind._

Lids fluttering up Legolas gazed at Aragorn for a long moment, fair features twisting as guilt surged in his heart. Legolas felt that it could not –should not possibly- end like that. As he continued to gaze at the Man, his body an opalescent shadow in the moonlight, a thousand possibilities of what he should do raised in his mind, and the Elf repressed the urge to jump down his steed, throw himself in Aragorn's arms and whisper amidst tears that he was deeply in love with him; that the Man had ruled his dreams and had done so since forever.

Finally, though, Legolas only patted his steed's neck, and Arod obediently turned away, albeit reluctantly, while shrugging his head with a shrill neigh.

"_Namarie._" Aragorn only mouthed a silent denial. The wind picked up a bit, bringing a small breath of cold air. Legolas snuggled closer to the warmth of Arod's hairy neck as his own skin prickled in the cool hair, and urged his steed into a light trot, not caring where they were going, as long as it was as far as possible from Aragorn. Because he loved the Man. Enough to long for him despite destiny and logic and nature. Enough to make him the centre of his world. Enough to grieve.

Just enough to let him go.

Without turning back Legolas urged Arod to quicken up slightly, and his shape soon became but a blurred spot of pale light against the darkened tones of the sky. At first Aragorn did nothing. He could not move; could not speak; could not think. The dull ache in his chest had intensified into a burning pain that paralysed him, depriving him of any spirit. Then reality came crashing down on him, the floodgates opened, and Aragorn reeled back, overwhelmed, chest heaving as if he was mortally wounded.

Legolas… was… leaving.

Barely thinking his actions through, Aragorn whipped around and ran toward his own stallion, swung up onto the saddle and seized the reins, forcing the poor beast to turn with a neigh of pain. He wouldn't –couldn't- let Legolas go. Not like that. Not now, not ever. Legolas was his, and he was Legolas's, forever. And Aragorn felt the sudden need to tell the Elf, to let him know just how important he was to him; how strongly the King of Men felt for the Prince of Elves without him knowing.

But Gandalf wouldn't allow it. Not now, when Gondor and the whole Middle Earth needed Aragorn to guide them through the shadows of that dark age and beyond. Holding up his staff he murmured an Elven chant under his breath even as Aragon dug his heels in his steed's sides, and the stallion immediately halted, as if frozen, and nothing Aragorn did could rouse him.

In the midst of his twined anger and desperation Aragorn shouted at Gandalf, using words he would not remember afterwards. He cried out his helplessness, using his heritage as a mean for Gandalf to obeying him, empty menaces escaping him between ragged shouts and kicks developed to the sides of his horse. But Gandalf was deaf to his prayers, and Legolas was now a small star near the top of the hill.

His muscles sagged, and Aragorn leaned heavily against his steed's neck, spent, watching Legolas's retreating form, aching for the Elf to turn around, if only to look back once before he was gone. Hope rose in Aragorn without warning at the thought. Legolas… Legolas would turn around. Surely. The Elf would turn around and smile at him and, despite the distance, see the emotions rippling in the Man's eyes; and then Legolas would turn his steed, and he'd gallop back down the hill, and he'd jump down the horse into Aragorn's arms, and he'd—

But Legolas never paused; never turned around, and the Elf was soon swallowed in the unfeeling dark sky, gone like an evanescent dream. Rain was falling now in angry downpours, but Aragorn was oblivious as he stared at the blurred line of the horizon. At last, as the world about him went out of focus, and nothing of the Elf remained behind if not his memory, the Man hid his face in the furry neck of his steed, and albeit his eyes remained dry, his shoulders hitched as sobs overwhelmed him. For the first time in his life Aragorn son of Arathorn, King of Men, was silently begging and pleading to whoever would listen to be but a mere Ranger – or a criminal, a beggar, a leper even.

Because lower people were allowed to do the only thing that mattered to him now and yet he could not do.

Follow Legolas. 

* * * *

The song of Legolas came to its whispered end, and the Elf focused on his blurred reflection upon the water. In truth he'd never left Aragorn. How could he? He'd watched the Man journeying from faraway shadows, and more than once his arrows had saved his life without him realizing it. Legolas had tiptoed across the Path of Dead behind Aragorn, letting the mist of the spirits run through his fingers as he advanced, welcomed, somehow expected. He'd sang softly to the Ocean when Aragorn had sailed from Pelargir toward Gondor. He'd lurched into the shadows of Minas Tirith during the battle of the Pellenor's Fields, his singing bow deadly for the Dark Army of Sauron. Legolas had witnessed the return of the King to the City of Men from atop a nearby hill, twined pride and pain swelling inside his heart. And never –ever- mortal eyes saw him. He was a glimpse of golden in the battlefield, a pale gleam shimmering over gushing water, a stray ray of light flashing at the edge of the vision. Never visible, never more substantial that a gust of wind.

But days had passed since the reconquest of Gondor, and since Legolas had last seen Aragorn. Oh, how much Legolas desired to see the Man, now! To feel his touch upon his skin, his breath wafting by his ears. He longed to let him know how much he loved him, even if rejection would be all that he attained. Tears blurred his vision, and the Elf was about to rub at his eyes harshly when a voice came, whispering his name with hesitance. The elf whipped around, hair swirling around his body, eyes glistening, and the urge to run away and the one to stay twined inside him, leaving him breathless and confused; for in front of him stood a vision escaped from his dreams.

"Aragorn…"

**A/N: Ok, everyone, next chapter is the last one. If you want, I will write an Epilogue dealing with the whole "Arwen thing" (note to Riley: my heart too will pang while writing that one part, but ehy! If I do write it, nothing will be between Leggy and Aragorn anymore and they will be free to live their love!!! *waves her Aragolas flag*). **

**And maybe, once Arwen too has seen that Aragorn belongs to Legolas, I could add… *blushes & grins* a lemony bonus chapter in which Legolas wants to learn the final lesson in human love: how it feels to make love with a mortal. *giggles* But the decision is all yours – the voting starts now! ^_^ **


	5. Créid

**_Title: _**_Seeking Harmony – part 05 – Crèid (To believe) _

**_Author:_**_ Nemesi. _

**_Disclaimer:_**_ *sighs* I own nothing but the silly theory of the Harmony. All the characters here portrayed are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. _

**_Summary: _**_No one wants to wake up from pleasant dreams. And if to be holding Legolas again is just a dream, surely Aragorn wishes to wake up never again. After all, in real life, Legolas is gone to Mirkwood and does not love him… right? _

**_Note: _**_WARNING!Mushy stuff ahead! HEAVILY mushy stuff ahead!!!! This is *incredibly* sappy. *offers around some bonus ticker for a free visit to the dentist* Exaggeration is my second name, I guess. *giggles* And it's Aragorn's too, It seems. Oh, that Man just knows his way with words… ^_- _

**_Note 2: _**_This takes place before, during AND after the previous chapter. Just how did Aragorn feel while Legolas was away? And what was he doing, and feeling, as Legolas sang? And what will he do now that they've meet again? Now we all know. ^_^ _

**_Rating:_**_ PG-13/R_  
  


* * * * *

_There's a red fox torn by a huntsmen's pack   
That's my soul up there   
There's a black winged gull with a broken back   
That's my soul up there   
There's a little black spot on the sun today   
It's the same old thing as yesterday   
  
I have stood here before inside the pouring rain   
With the world turning circles running 'round my brain   
I guess I'm always hoping that you'll end this reign   
But it's my destiny to be the King of pain _

**_- King of Pain - The Police _**

_oh I am what I am  
I'll do what I want   
but I can't hide   
I won't go   
I won't sleep   
I can't breathe   
until you're resting   
here with me   
I won't leave   
I can't hide   
I cannot be   
until you're resting   
here with me _

_ **-Here with Me - Dido**_

Some say dreams are enjoyable only before you realize them: then they become reality, and thus dull.

Aragorn had dreamed the walls of Minas Tirith for his whole life, and now that he dwelled inside them, the glimmering sections of solidified moonlight of his dreams were but unfeeling fences of cold rock, dull and heartless. In a word, reality – wonderful illusion made bitter reality in front of his eyes.

Yet, there was a dream he knew – he just knew – he would savour ten times more if it were to be realized.

_Ai! You're breaking my heart, Legolas. _

A weary sigh escaped him as Aragorn left his chambers, cloaked in twilight and sorrow.

_Where are you? Are you safe? _

The Man walked down the gloom corridors slowly, limping through a long series of twisting, never-ending hallways slowly, leisurely, as he didn't have a care in the world. The high ceiling and the cold walls were fused with the oddly dense shadows, overlapping and melding, so that he felt like moving through layers of darkness.

_Do you ever think about me? Dream about me as I do about you? _

The Man staggered and limped as he went, his body worn-out beyond words. Worry and tension had been his companions for the last weeks, and during the endless nights sleep had proved impossible. Every time he closed his eyes darkness descended upon him, closing in on him like towering walls. All he wanted was to run away, to leave Gondor, and the city he'd dreamed of for decades, even if only for one night.

_Do you ever miss me, tortured by the distance as I am? _

He moved through the shadows as one of them, eyes downcast, knowing the depths of the castle and its every corner and shadow too well to really need to watch where he was going. And when he finally left first the Tower and then the Citadel, it was like drawing in the very first breath of life – like being born in that one instant admits moonlight and mist and blue.

_Do you – will you ever- feel for me as I… _

The breeze was unnaturally cold that night, and the Man tucked the high collar of his tunic up around his neck a little tighter. Or maybe it was just him feeling cold, colder as he'd ever felt, all alone in the darkness, without any light to guide and warm him. Without Legolas by his side. His feet splashed over the wet ground as he went, noisy as no Ranger should be. But no Ranger should feel that weary either, Aragorn would retort if he had the spirit to. Stumbling upon unsure legs Aragorn walked for a few more moments, then stopped and sighed, looking up. At last he found himself leaning his with his back against the cold walls of Minas Tirith, glistening wet with evening dew, icy water seeping through his clothes to add to the coldness.

His lids felt heavy, and Aragorn complied the silent order, though he discovered it to be a mistake soon afterwards, when glimpses of golden hair and glittering blue eyes filled his mind and soft ache filled his heart. Frustrated with himself Aragorn turned around and touched his forehead to the wall, in search of refuge and solace from his demons. From his loneliness and pain. From his fears, and the feeling of overwhelming loneliness that was drowning his heart. He hated feeling this way, so helpless and exhausted. Beaten, something the King of Men couldn't allow himself to be.

Dark locks were soon plastered to his clammy face and neck, and water glistened on his skin, tracing curves down his cheeks like teardrops would. An icy drop ran from the wall down his hand, pressed fatly against the rock wall, and he immediately curled his fingers, delivering the protective fence a desperate blow.

After a moment more of distress, he turned, and whipped his head back, slamming it against the wall and barely registering the pain. Forget. He wanted to forget. Never before had he felt so helpless, sorrow and exhaustions twining in his veins like poison. The mantle of leadership that for so long had been placed on his shoulders, felt now as heavy as ever, and not for the first since the beginning of their quest – no, since Legolas had left- Aragorn wished to be someone else. Anyone else.

He straightened against the wall and lowered his head, his damp hair falling across his face in heavy locks. Grey eyes shut against the gloomy light, he sank his teeth into his bottom lip, not aware of the tiny drops of blood his action drew forth. Aragorn closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, letting the cold air coat the insides of his mouth with its rusty taste, clawing its way down his lungs. Without reason he suddenly found himself lost in the memory of a cobalt dusk, a dusk in which the Elf had fled, tears shimmering in his eyes. The last sunset they'd seen together, that had started serenely and ended mournfully. Burning moisture welling in his eyes caused the Man to start and blink rapidly. How strange, that the tears he had repressed for all his life now gathered for such small matter: being abandoned.

He found himself praying to Deities he wasn't sure he even believed in anymore, let alone trusted, pleading to be allowed to see Legolas again, even if for just one time, for the fleetest of instants; even if he'd have to surrender his life immediately afterwards, but soon; right then, right there, for he knew he could not bare such loneliness and darkness anymore.

_'He's the only thing in this darkened world that really matters to me,'_ the Man silently realized. True to his word Aragorn would have followed Frodo to Mordor, but for Legolas… for Legolas he would have thrown himself inside the very fires of those cursed lands and come through death just to whisper the Elf's name, gazing in those wondrous marine irises of his.

'What am I going to do without him, now?' The man choked back a sob and leaned his head back on the wet coldness of the stony wall.  
"I need you, Legolas." He said in such a far off voice that it was almost a whisper, his eyes watering behind his lowered eyelids. "I love you. I hope you know that."

His muscles sagged without warning, and Aragorn slid down the wall some, knees bending under the weight of his pain. Aragorn may not have been an Elf, but he knew. He knew his grief was killing him. He knew he wouldn't last much longer. With a sigh which ended as a painful groan, he moved from the wall, slipping out the shadow he was lurking in only to slip into another one. Suddenly, he came to an halt. His tired, yet keen eyes quickly scanned his darkened surroundings, looking for any sign of movement.

The sky was livid, that liquid tone of black it turns to after storms. Walking on top of the fence stray soldiers, be they Dùnedain, Men of Gondor or of Rohan, spurted forth: shadows from the shadows. Inside the city the lights had long since gone out, and he guessed it was past midnight. The fields would have been completely drowned in the darkness, if not for the torches hanging from the walls, the soft grey mist floating through the air and the patches of pale moonlight running over grey grass. Little creatures hid around him, but in their buzzing and whispering, Aragorn's keen ear suddenly caught a different note.

He ran his eyes back over the walls and gates and fields and hills again, and this time something caught his eyes. A pale radiance seemed to come from the riverside, low down the hill and behind the Castle. He narrowed his eyes at it. Then, almost after their own volition, his legs carried him forward and forward, until he reached the shores. Someone was there, like he'd expected.

He halted for a moment, staring numbly at the lone figure glittering in the moonlight, and for Aragorn time froze. It was unfocused for the mist, and Aragorn could no see their face, but this was someone the Man couldn't stop from recognizing - even between dozen billions of people, even after dozen billions years. The world reached a grinding halt, Time screeching like gears of failing machinery and slowly decomposing to ashes.  
  
Aragorn's heart pounded in his ears.

Pound… 

The radiance of the moon flickered gently through the mist. Water shimmered in swaying pools on the ground. The rustling sound of distant trees trembled in the air, sounding as if it came from a whole different world, far and impalpable. Drowned in a dreamlike atmosphere, the figure tipped its head up, taking a deep breath in.

Aragorn's heart continued to pound.

Pound… pound…

A colder breath of wind blew by then, making a few silken strands whip around snowy cheeks, almost iridescent under the faint moonlight leaking through livid clouds. Shining little droplets clung to golden hair, and as the figure gave its head a slight toss the quivering droplets rose, glittering like diamonds in the eldritch light.

_…Legolas…  
  
_…pound…  
  
One of Legolas's hands rose, as he, eyes closed and lips parted, slid his fingers through his hair to tame the work of the wind, accomplishing the motion in a slow fashion, as if he had no cares in the world; no hurry; no hope. In that brief moment Aragorn could see Legolas's profile outlined clearly against the sky. Dim emotions obscured his gentle features in slow succession, and when he opened his eyes again they were like the sky above, dark and scattered with stars. Aragorn's face paled, and he moved his mouth in his incredulity, swallowing air through jagged breaths.

…pound.

For a moment Aragorn thought he was merely dreaming, but even as he did, he was caught in the realization that his mind couldn't have conceived something as beautiful as the flaxen Elf standing in front of him. During their forced parting Aragorn had seen Legolas's face a hundred billion times in his mind's eye. He'd played the sound of his voice over and over in his head until he feared that he would go crazy with need. And yet not even in his most beautiful dreams he had been able to replicate the perfection this lithe figure held.

Aragorn's senses seemed to shrivel suddenly to focus solely on the ethereal creature standing a few paces away from him. Legolas stood in a stream of moonlight, slender figure dappled in silver and the grey of shadows, a vision of dignity and grace and profound sorrow. A shiver chased its way down Aragorn's spine, and he found himself reaching out tentatively, as if to touch him. But the gap between them was wide and his legs would not carry him forward, rooted as they were to the ground.

The mere sight of Legolas was enough to take Aragorn's breath away, but when the Elf parted his lips, to let a song flow, the world itself was left breathless.

Legolas sang. Of stormed oceans and endless shores; of life and love; of pain and longing twined together like lovers. His song tasted like mist and moonlight; like summer rain and drenched soil, reminding the Man of times and places he'd never lived, whispering in his ears of times to come and of times already gone.

Caught in his song, Legolas held out his arms and tilted his head back, arching his body, offering to the moonlight the lovely expanse of his white throat. Light suffused through him to lighten the shadows of nightfall, and the very darkness around Aragorn's heart and body and soul began to fade, chased away by golden brilliance.

Aragorn's Light was back to him.

The world itself was fading around the Man, drowned in the twilight mist. The air was a cold caress against is hot skin, and he allowed himself to close his eyes, savouring the feeling for a brief moment. Then, all too soon, the melody came to it whispered end, and the world was free to move again. The noise of the rushing branches echoed again in the trembling air. The wind rose once more from the secret cradle it had gone resting. Time restarted its endless flow again.

Taking in a deep, flowing breath of misted air Aragorn dug his nails in his palms hard enough to draw blood, trying to sooth his wild heart a tad and awake himself to action. His efforts proved vain though, for wonder claimed him once more when his eyes were opened again.

As he watched, a faint ray of moonlight slid through the grey fog to get caught in Legolas's figure, turning his hair into fluid gold, his skin translucent, his lips rose, his eyes into gleaming stars. It sculpted the planes and the gently sloping curves of his face out of silver; unmarred like a statue of marble he was, like a glitter of the Ocean's face, and Aragorn had to swallow the awe that was rising fast inside him.  
"Legolas… ?" He called hesitantly, his voice reduced to a tentative whisper, as if he was scared the Elf could shatter the moment he raised his voice.

Afterwards it all unfolded before his eyes as if Time was flying on tired wings.

Legolas turned around to face him, eyes wide, and golden, soft hair swirled around his body like Ocean's waves. Tears glistened in the Elf's unique eyes, and Aragorn's throat tightened around all the pleads and questions he wanted to voice. He choked on all the promises he wanted to make him, and remained silent, even if he was hungering for the sound of a voice.

Moonlight wrapped about the Man and the Elf, bathing them in a halo of light. It was like being caught inside a diamond, with no sound other than that of their brisk breathing; with no one else save for the two of them, caught, willing or not, in a world composed solely by their beating hearts, liquid moonlight and accomplice mist.

"Aragorn…" Legolas's voice glided through the air like on butterfly wings, and before he knew Aragorn had strode forward and captured his Light in the circle of his arms, holding Legolas to him like he'd die without him. Caught, wanting to flee and yet not to, and hating himself for responding so quickly and powerfully, Legolas wound his arms around Aragorn's neck, rising on his tiptoes to better accomplish the task, and pressed their bodies so closely together it seemed he wanted to become one with the Man.

After an eternity that was too short to sate Aragorn's needs, the Man slowly moved away, mouthing the Elf's name over and over, all the while smoothing the hair back from his fair face with anxious caresses, incredulity clear on his face. Legolas stared deeply at his King, eyes rippling with affection, but even as he gazed, worry rose to cloud his eyes. This Man was his personal vision of happiness, yet today, as he watched him, Legolas's eyes burned: the fire that Aragorn was had extinguished, and all that remained was the pale smoke rising after the ashes had cooled.

The Man was dangerously close to breaking point. A deadly paleness had overtook golden auburn on his face. His silver eyes were clouded, blunted to a dead grey. The shining flames that dwelled in the depths of his gaze had been extinguished, drowned in dull shadows. He seemed to have shrunk, dwarfed by a terrible weight into a shadow of the old Aragorn. 

The Elf had never seen him this vulnerable, ever.

Quickly forgetting his carefully plotted plan of separation, Legolas reached up and gently fingered Aragorn's pale cheek. The Man snagged the Elf's hand as it made to retreat, and intertwined their fingers in a shocking contrast of snow against auburn. Legolas smiled, his eyes softening, and savoured the rough feeling of Aragorn's stubble on his fingertips as the Man placed small, soft kisses across the inside of his wrist.

"What ails you, my King?" Legolas asked at last, his melodious voice hushed into a whisper.  
"Are you a dream?" Aragorn replied, pressing his lips to Legolas's skin in one last, desperate kiss. The Man's voice was like a tapestry. Shimmering threads weaved through it: the designs of sorrow, need and pain, entwining with another strand Legolas could not name at first. It was fear, he suddenly understood, but fear of what, he did not know.

Standing so close to the Elf, Aragorn could feel his senses gradually getting intoxicated by Legolas's scent and warmth, but it still wasn't enough a proof to him, who knew all too well that the most hurting dreams are just the more realistic, more so if they deal with one's deepest needs and hopes.  
"Are you?" He whispered again, an added thread weaving through his voice: the thread of supplication.

Legolas smiled, albeit painfully, and closed the distance between them again, gently caressing Aragorn's cheek.  
"Do I feel like a dream?" The Elf whispered back, a rose petal falling on the ground, as his fingers crawled up the man's face to gently tuck a lock of dark hair behind his ear. The man leaned into the touch, and his eyes narrowed as he went pensive for a moment.  
"Yes." He said at last, with a shake of his head. "A beautiful dream that will fade with the morning, like in all these past nights. I will reach out for you, and you will fade before I can touch you. Before I can feel you. Before we can…" and he stopped himself, merely staring at the Elf as he exhaled shakily. Legolas feel the desperate need and longing for him radiating off of Aragorn in waves. While part of him rejoiced that he'd been missed as much as he had missed the Man, another part withered and died painfully at mere thought of having hurt the Man that meant so much to him. Closing his eyes, Legolas lowered his head, gazing down unseeingly at their touching chests, feeling Aragorn's heart thumping wildly against his own.

There was a moment of silence, and Aragorn feared his scattered words had been comprehended somehow; that his deepest feelings had been revealed, and the Elf was searching a graceful way to reject him. Pain rose to his heart, and something inside the King of Men suddenly cracked. His dream was starting to become like real life: a nightmare. A nightmare in which Legolas did not care for him. A Nightmare in which there was no Light for him, if not that of a pale star that was less than enough for him who had known the wondrous luminosity of Mirkwood's Midsummer Sun. Closing his eyes like Legolas had done before, Aragorn tipped his head backward, letting pale moonlight shine down his pained features as the nightmare grew around him.

It was then that Legolas leaned down, touching his soft lips to Aragorn's chest, just where his heart lay. The Delusion Aragorn was trapped in suddenly became Dream, and Dream became Reality. A shiver coursed down the Man's spine, and his fingers ran through Legolas's soft hair after their own volition, holding him close. Aragorn ran his hand leisurely down Legolas's neck and then back up to his cheek, cherishing the touch, as Legolas slowly moved away.

Silence prevailed once again. Aragorn gazed at the Elf in his arms for one long moment, then he slid his hand down his face to cup the angle of his jaw, and tilted the Legolas's head upward. Blue and silver met in a clash of emotions.  
"I'm sorry for hurting you." Legolas breathed softly, watery blue eyes staring into pained silver ones, looking for forgiveness. "I never wanted to hurt you, Aragorn. That's the last thing I'd ever want to do. I'd be your sword and shield and shelter and light if that was enough to prevent any pain from reaching you. But I'm the only one to blame for the pain haunting you now. I'm so sorry, Aragorn, so sorry…"

"I'm the one who's sorry, Legolas." The Man breathed. "Please forgive me… forgive whatever I did that chased you away. Was it my mouth that offended you? Then forgive my words, and if an apology is not enough, I'll rid myself of my tongue. Was it my hand? Then I'm ready to cut it away. Or was it my humanity that offended you? If that's so, I will tear my mortal heart out my chest and place it at you feet. I could live without my heart, but I could never do without you. I couldn't even go on if you weren't by my side. I need you. Please believe me. I need you more than the air I breathe."

"You did naught; don't weight your heart with blames that are not yours." Legolas uttered softly, and Aragorn slid his thumb across his cheek in a tender back and forth fashion, offering reassurance as well as searching it. Legolas leaned into the touch, lips caressing the Man's chin as he sighed. "I wished you to be happy. I thought your happiness dwelled in a place you could reach only without me. It thought it resided in a place where a Man and a Elf can't be as close as we are. That's why I evaded you, even if that pained me. I thought my pain a small price for you happiness. But--"

"Legolas," the Man interrupted gently. "An happiness in which you're not with me is no happiness at all. Days have been dark and broody since you left, and Nights became nightmares of ice. Stay with me tonight." Aragorn halted, wrapping one arm around the Elf's waist and bending his head enough to kiss the top of the Elf's head. "Please Legolas… don't leave me… Whatever you do, just don't leave me again. Legolas… you promised me to stay by my side until my Harmony was found… I beg of you, now: change your oath," The elf shuddered softly, as if suddenly cold, and drew in a sharp breath. "And say you'll stand by my side until I breathe my last breath."

Legolas's eyes widened as he looked up at the man, but he said nothing, only welcoming the Elf when he hid his face in the hollow of his neck, inhaling his scent like a drug. The man's fingers ran slowly through Legolas's golden hair, his breath a soothing caress over his pointed ear. To their delight both rediscovered that Legolas fit perfectly in the Man's arms, and from that moment on no other place in the world would be more homely than their embrace for them.

"I will." Legolas breathed. "I will stay by your side tonight, as well as the rest of your nights, until you leave this lands to meet the Lady Death." _And then I'll follow you in her embrace, my love. _

Gently, always gently, Aragorn reached down and lifted the lithe frame of Legolas into his arms. The Man touched his lips to the Elf's forehead in an affectionate gesture when Legolas leaned his head against his chest, arms curled loosely about the powerful column of the Man's neck. Clutching Legolas even closer, Aragorn moved his first step back toward Gondor, heading toward reality and duty and war with light steps; lighter than those of a mere Ranger. Lighter than those of a Elf, even.

He didn't heed his comrades clattering across the stone ground around him when he entered the Citadel; didn't glance at them as they swarmed about him, aligning then behind him in a silent file; didn't bother to answer the few that managed to whisper some scattered words. All he was aware of was the Elf in his arms.

Stunned, practically non-existent for the Prince of Elves and the King of Men, Dùnedain and Rohimirr and Men of Gondor alike stood, lips parted in mute shock. They couldn't move nor talk, for amaze had caught their breaths at the sight of Aragorn.

Tall he was, and kingly, more than he'd ever been. Most of the lines of care that had clouded his features in the past days had disappeared, and their King seemed suddenly younger, and yet wiser. Some thought they saw a dazzling star shone on his brow, but all those that had eyes to see perceived a blazing light inside his eyes. Elessar, the Elfstone of the house of Elrond was shining at his apex, and wonder filled those that saw him.

It was like a dream: a pale light lined everything in their sight with blurry edges. Never had they seen their King like that before, but suddenly all wished to gaze at him in such guise always and forever, for hope ignited in their hearts as Aragorn walked forth. None thought wrong of the closeness of the Man and the Elf, but many rejoiced in it. In that moment, as they looked, they did not see two males enclosed in the warmest of embraces; rather they saw a Man, the proud and mighty King of all Men, carrying a stream of dreamy sunlight, a sparkling diamond, in his arms, and receiving endless blessing and strength from such closeness. Silent vows were uttered that night, and words of hope were whispered in the wind as the splendour of Elessar was revealed to them.

At last Aragorn came to end of his walk, and whether he found his chamber's doors open or rather some bowing Dùnedain had held them open for him he was not sure. All he knew was that he was now free to lay Legolas on his bed and rest beside him as it was right, letting the Elf's steady breath lull him to sleep like he'd dreamed.

After a too long time Legolas was finally laying again on Aragorn's bedstead, but the Man would not join him; not yet. Legolas shivered softly at the loss of physical contact and silently held his arms out to Aragorn when the Man hovering above him pulled back some to admire him. The splay of hearth-fire gave Aragorn's skin a bronze glow as he gazed down at the Elf below him, lithe body gleaming softly on the dark sheets, golden hair fanned across the pillows like rays of the Sun.

Letting himself go in the blissful serenity that had engrossed him Aragorn lowered himself slowly onto Legolas, letting him bear his weight, and the Elf sighed softly, the warmth of Aragorn's body a sensation he'd missed for too much. Faintly, the realization that the unreal feelings pouring through them at the touch were nothing but their Harmony's work grazed their minds, but too engrossed in each other they were to rejoice at this ultimate proof of their bond.

With a tenderness close to worship Aragorn smoothed Legolas' hair, kissed his forehead, his eyelids. Then with a quick, but subtle movement his lips were pressed firmly against Legolas's chest. Long, pale fingers laced through his hair as Aragorn rested a long moment where he could feel the slow even beats of Legolas's heart under his mouth.

When the fingers in his hair began descending down his neck in gentle caresses Aragorn rose enough to bury his face in the gently sloping hollow where Legolas's neck and shoulder met, letting his breath waft across porcelain skin. His fingers began to draw shapeless figures across the pale expanse of the archer's throat as he savoured the scent and taste of his honey skin with calculate slowness, like Legolas had done the first time they'd slept in each other's arms, as if in some kind of ancient ritual.

At last, with his heart and ears filled with the sweet melody of Legolas's soft sighs, Aragorn paused all his movements, and held his Elf even closer to him, never wanting to let go. He wanted to promise him everything, to pledge himself to him for all the life, but somehow he knew there was no need for words; not yet. Aragorn wanted to voice his deepest thoughts, but he couldn't. And it wouldn't have mattered. That was the moment to feel, not to talk, Aragorn realized. Immediately the Man felt at the mercy of his own emotions and allowed himself to get lost in the pleasurable haze engulfing his mind, still fingering Legolas's neck gently, a feeling of renewed peace washing over him.

It was with his head still buried in the hollow of Legolas's neck that Sleep caught the King of Men, but only after a final, wet kiss had been placed on the Elf's skin. One kiss so warm and sweet to make him moan softly and arch into the touch, revelling in the warm and soothing feeling spreading through him. Legolas could feel his love's heart beating against his own and suddenly nothing else mattered but them. For the first time, everything felt complete. Circling his arms protectively around Aragorn, cherishing rather than holding, Legolas bent his head enough to touch his face to the Man's, and then he too surrendered to sleep.

Never did he notice that the Evenstar that so strongly had burned him, even through their clothing, each time Aragorn had rested in his arms like this, was gone…

- Fin.

**A/N = *looks around* *gets out dentist tools* Cavities, anyone? ^^ That was just *so* fluffy, wasn't it? But I think it was a fitting ending. ^^ Thanks for all the great reviews you left me! You're just THE BEST! And I hope to get lots more! (-- shameless) Yeah, I know I ask a lot, but it cheers me up and fuels my creativity! ^_^ **

**Neways…I'm gonna go working on the Epilogue now, but I guess the voting goes on: there won't be any Arwen pairing in it but… would some scenes that "may and may be not" hinting at Arwen/Éowyn be frowned up? *makes her best Hobbit eyes* I hope not. There won't be any 'real' romance between them though, this much I can say – they just remain close as they look the Man they love falling in love with male Elf. **

**Regarding our favourite Elven Prince and Human King, I've already some ideas in mind for this Epilogue but… *shoots her muses a glance over her shoulder* *coughs* honestly, anyone here is interested in seeing Legolas and Aragorn waltzing…? ^^;; **

**Err… let me know? *gives you her Hobbit eyes again***


	6. Dance with me?

**_Title: _**_Seeking Harmony – Epilogue – Dance with me? _

**_Author:_**_ Nemesi. _

**_Disclaimer:_**_ *sighs* I own nothing but the silly theory of the Harmony. All the characters here portrayed are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. _

**_Summary: _**

**_Notes: _**_Small clarification: even though Legolas and Aragorn spend every night in each other's arms they've never –ever- had sex. *snaps fingers* They spend their nights together just sleeping… what a pity. *sighs*They haven't even **kissed** yet!!!! O_O Oh, but this will change soon, don't worry… *giggles* _

**_Rating:_**_ PG-13/R_  
  


_* * * * * _

_Would you dance  
if I asked you to dance?   
Would you run   
and never look back?   
Would you cry   
if you saw me crying?   
And would you save my soul, tonight?   
  
Would you tremble   
if I touched your lips?   
Would you laugh?   
Oh please tell me this.   
Now would you die   
for the one you loved?   
Hold me in your arms, tonight.   
  
I can be your hero, baby.   
I can kiss away the pain.   
I will stand by you forever.   
You can take my breath away.   
  
Would you swear   
that you'll always be mine?   
Or would you lie?   
would you run and hide?   
Am I in too deep?   
Have I lost my mind?   
I don't care...   
  
_..._you're here tonight._

- **_Hero – Enrique Iglesias _**

****

"Aragorn…" soft whispers wafted across his closed eyelids, and tendrils of fine silk slid down his cheek, brushing by his ear and pooling on his pillow as if fallen from above. The man took a deep breath in, smelling a mixture of honey and Ocean and rain-wet leaves, and shifted slightly under the warm weight laying atop him. The moist breath glided down his face to come and rest inches above his mouth.

"Aragorn…" a hushed giggle followed the sound of his name when Aragorn's lips twitched upwards, the feeling of warm breath wafting across his lips too pleasurable to elicit no reaction. "It's no use pretending you're still asleep, my King." Legolas smiled, leaning closer to whisper in the King's ear. "Your breathing pattern is not that of a sleeping Man, Aragorn. I know well that you're awake."

A grin drew Aragorn's lips back, and with a swift, but subtle movement the Man wound his arms round Legolas's waist and reversed their positions, hiding his face in the gentle sloping valley where The Elf's shoulder and neck met. Legolas managed a surprised yelp just to please the Man, but when Aragorn -unable to stop smiling- nuzzled his head against the Elf's neck, he felt a barely contained ripple of laughter against his chest, and the sensation was so oddly familiar to rouse a twin small laugh in his throat.

"Can't a Man be awake and yet wish not to rise?" Legolas's fingers danced across Aragorn's sides, and before he knew it Aragorn was sighing, lost in the bliss that ghostly touch evoked. Legolas was not one to miss details, and when Aragorn relaxed against him the Elf moved - a sudden flip of the muscles in his back and they were back to their original position. Aragorn struggled playfully under Legolas's weight and the Elf leaned back, hovering above the Man as he straddled his hips with gentle force, each hand curled around one of the King's shoulders.

"No, he can't." Legolas countered, looking at the Man sombrely until grey eyes alighted with the silent promise not to move. Nodding once Legolas freed the restrained Man and slid to the side of the bed, letting his feet thump gently on the floor, fair hands raising to his hair to tend his loose tresses.

Aragorn smiled as Legolas shifted to look at his reflection in the high mirror, frowning down at his crumbled clothes. With agile fingers the Elf straightened his clothing, brushing inexistent dust off his green tunic and grey leggings, and Aragorn was free to lean languidly back down and gaze at the –his- Elf.

Since he'd come to Minas Tirith, Legolas had never neglected his promise to spend each of his nights by the King's side. Each evening, soon after dining, the King would rose and nod to Legolas, who would follow him to the door of the Royal chambers. There he'd be caught in the Man's arms to be laid on the bed he knew now so well. On it little he would sleep, if at all, as he watched the Man he loved doze peacefully in the circle of his arms, and each morrow Aragorn would wake up to find beautiful blue eyes shining few inches from his, and would know that everything was going to be well. It was a tradition now, more than a secret or an oddness, and if indeed their actions rose whispers like Gandalf had feared, none were malevolent, nor condemning.

The first to be introduced to the daily ritual and to be greatly envied for that, not to mention peppered with questions, had been two members of the Fellowship – namely Frodo and Sam. Aragorn was leading Legolas through stairs and winding corridors of the Tower after a particularly hard day, walking backwards as not to look away from the Elf's amused smile. He was still moving backwards when they reached his chambers, and pushing the door open with his shoulder he'd swooped down to catch a very delighted Elf in his arms, and proceeded to rain his ear with kisses and small whispers, rousing gentle laughter from the blonde Prince hanging from his neck.

Frodo and Sam had been there – doing what this tale does not tell- and saw the amusing show of affection, commenting wisely on it when Man and Elf had disappeared behind the huge gilded door of the King's bedroom, as if they were Istari instead than Hobbits. When the two faithfully reported to their friends what they'd saw though, each and every member of the Fellowship proclaimed to have sensed the bond between their travelling companions first, and not even the years of arguing and bickering that followed ever divulged which of them was right.

From that day on no secret was made anymore of how deeply they needed to be near, to touch each other as if tomorrow wasn't to come. And none in Minas Tirith minded. Both Aragorn and Legolas were more than glad to see people taking delight in their closeness, encouraging it even, but… despite having what seemed to be his people's permission, the Man had yet to tell the flaxen Prince that he loved him. And never had the fact that Legolas was his Harmony made it past Aragorn's lips. But while he battled with his guilt for not being able to voice his feelings, the King of Men was unaware that Legolas was engaged in an all too similar fight with his own heart.

Aragorn was startled back to reality when, satisfied with the state of his clothing, Legolas rose to his feet, glancing at the Man from the mirror. Had the Man not tore his eyes from the Elf's bewitching visage and the way his hands skidded across his lithe form, he might not have heard what he was saying. Fortunately, however, he was able to break his silent reverie and thus catch the last words Legolas spoke.

" …and you must decide a different sleeping arrangement for me – I'd be delighted to be given a room facing the gardens, in fact." On hearing such request the Man frowned, and Legolas smiled at its reflection.

"Why?" Aragorn said, pushing himself up on his elbows. "Isn't my… _our_ room enough for you anymore?" Legolas gave a laugh at that, and the sound was so crystalline and pleasurable that Aragorn found himself smiling despite himself.

"I suppose, My King," Legolas cooed, eyes sparkling. "That your spouse would be more than interested in knowing why her husband shares his chambers with but a mere archer."

"You're not a mere archer, Legolas." Legolas's laughter rose, his chest rippling. The collar of his shirt hung slightly open and the misty morning light coming from the window teased over his neck and the smooth curves of his face, making him a pristine statue of gently glimmering glass.

Precious, and seemingly fragile.

Aragorn ached to reach out and hold him, but Legolas stood, and twirled around in a swirl of green cloth and golden hair. He glided weightlessly toward the door, and pressed his back against it, hands behind him, head tilted, hair flowing and torso bent slightly forward.

"Still she'd wonder why I do occupy the place that's rightly hers in your bed, my King." The statement was but a mere teasing. The faint innuendo that laid underneath the Elf's words was meant as a mere jest, but Aragorn's heart panged nonetheless – _that place is righteously yours to take Legolas, if you'll ever want it, _he thought. _It's not hers. Not anymore._

"I hate to drag you from your pleasant dreams, Aragorn-" Aragorn briefly wondered what had aroused such a comment, and if Legolas had the slightest awareness of who did fill his dreams "-but the Lady Arwen is arriving today, and you've to ready the City for the coming of its Queen – let me remind you you've yet to finish the arrangement of the ball up to this date." That said Legolas outstretched a hand, palm up, as if offering Aragorn help to stand despite the distance. "And I *want* my garden-facing room." The Man could do nothing more but smile.

_It's not time._ Aragorn lied quietly as he rose slowly. _Not yet. But I'll tell him. One day, I'll tell him._

* * * * *

The journey had been harder than she'd thought, and the hardship she'd been through for the last few days only doubled her glee when Minas Tirith loomed into vision at the end of the stony pass, fair and shiny like a ray of sun made solid. Once at the gates Arwen quickly dismounted her steed, all but running inside the Citadel, hood drawn down to cover most of her face. Few saw her as she ran up the streets, and fewer still paid heed to the dashing hooded figure. Among these few though, there was someone who not only saw and heed her, but recognized the Evenstar for what she was despite never having seen her before, for they'd been waiting for her.

Arwen kept running, delighted at the idea of surprising Aragorn with her early arrival – it had been Gandalf's idea, and Arwen had been quick to agree to come earlier than planned, even if she wondered why had Gandalf and Frodo rode all the way up to Rivendell just to change her travelling arrangements. In the midst of her excitation she did not see the figure creeping behind her, nor did she guess its intention until fingers curled around her wrist and she was turned around to stare into eyes as blue as summer skies. Arwen's breath caught, but not out of fear. The hooded figure bowed its head slightly, and golden tendrils escaped the dark hood to glitter in the sunlight.

Arwen didn't know why, but when Éowyn – as the other woman had said she was named- began to gently drag her toward Minas Tirith, she couldn't help but follow; up, up into the Citadel and inside the Tower. The Undòmiel was not aware of how similar she and Éowyn were to Legolas and Aragorn as they proceeded, one gently dragging the other, down the same aisles and stairs the two males had walked that evening of so many days before. How could she? She knew nothing of what had happened inside the walls of the white tower, after all. Yet there was a difference between then and now: Aragorn had been staring at Legolas's face all they way, while Arwen could not look at Éowyn's, no matter how she wanted to discover and name the emotions she'd seen rippling in her pale blue gaze.

"I loved him." Éowyn said at last, just when certainty was claiming Arwen that she was merely dreaming. Her fingers curled about Éowyn's wrist, squeezing gently.

"And this troubles you, fair Lady?" She whispered. "Be at ease then: all that know him can do little else but love him." Éowyn smiled, a secretive smile.

"Yet, I loved him not as a servant would his master, but as a woman." Arwen nodded, unsure of what to say and let the other woman drag her forward still.

"You speak of this as if your feelings are fallen in the past. Is that it?"

"I've forced myself to forget them." She admitted. "Because I soon realized Aragorn's heart was not mine to hold, nor it would ever be, because another already had it." Inexplicably, Arwen's heart panged. Éowyn came to a halt as they reached the balcony, and curling her other hand around the finely chiselled breast-high railing, she lead Arwen to her side. They spent a moment gazing at each other, the only movement the one that lead Éowyn's hand up and her hood down. And then, "Look," Éowyn said, pointing something far down in the gardens. And look Arwen did.

She paid not heed to the Hobbits, the Dwarf and the Wizard as they huddled around her. The only thing that mattered were the Man and the Elf in the gardens, and the strange feeling of serenity seeping through her at the sight. They were strangely beautiful, sitting there under the pale shadows, a balsam to the eye. Almost like fragments of dream glittering gently in the harshness of reality, and she suddenly felt as an intruder, one who had no right to witness them. And yet she could not tear her eyes away, aware of how incredibly, awfully, perfect Legolas and Aragorn looked one near the other.

Legolas was luminous, fair skin gleaming faintly, hair spilling across his shoulders and wafting gently in the small breeze. Sat next to him, long legs stretched, was Aragorn. Shaggy, dark and strong, but not less breathtaking. They matched each other – like shadow and light they were, moon and sun, and just like the fair stars they resembled they seemed unable –but not unwilling- to touch as it seemed they should, and Arwen's heart gave yet another pang. Then they moved, and spoke, and the Lady of Rivendell was suddenly aware that love could indeed be expressed without rich or heady words.

Legolas tilted his head, and Aragorn's hand moved in perfect unison, running through Legolas's hair and curling behind his nape, leading the fair head gently to his shoulder.

"It's so peaceful." Legolas said softly. "The wind, the trees, the grass—the earth even, are singing." Aragorn placed his cheek atop Legolas's head, inhaling the scent of vanilla his hair seemed to exude, and wrapped both arms around the Elf's waist.

"I think I can hear it." Legolas chuckled, a melodious tinkle, and Aragorn's smile grew wider.

"Don't flatter yourself Ranger. To hear nature's voice is a privilege of the Elves." He chided gently, playing thoughtlessly with the loose collar of Aragorn's tunic. Then he paused, head tilted as if listening. He shook his head at whatever the trees had asked of him, before laying it back on Aragorn's shoulder. "This might be the last tree-song we'll ever hear together." Legolas said at last, in such a quiet whisper that even Arwen's keen ear had to strain to hear him.

"It won't be." Aragorn assured gently, his voice full of promise and resolution, and one arm draped about the slim waist trailed up to Legolas's shoulders. He stretched his fingers, and cupped Legolas's cheek, his thumbs caressing the smooth skin. "I may be a King, but I am and always will be your Harmony, Legolas."

_I'm your Harmony… _

Everything seemed to hold still. Arwen barely restrained herself from reeling backward.

_Your Harmony…_ the word began spinning in her mind.

_Always your Harmony…_ now she understood much, but just as much became unclear to her.

_Harmony… _

"We should go." The Elf said, fair features twisting in pain. "Gondor… " he licked his lips, a quick gesture. "…needs you."

"Not yet." Aragorn's arms tightened around Legolas, gently pressing their bodies closer together. And the Elf could just whisper the Man's words back to him, snuggling closer in his embrace.

"Legolas, I…" Aragorn began, but Legolas stopped him.

"Shh," He whispered, placing a gentle fingertip over the Man's lips, smiling as he hid his face against the Man's neck. "The trees are singing." Aragorn nodded, closing his eyes.

"About us?"

"About us." But he would add no more.

Shaking her head, Arwen retreated from the window, and the world inside seemed strangely dark and oppressive: deprived of the dreamy light shining outside, the halls of Minas Tirith felt like the pits of Mordor for a long moment, and Arwen froze. Then the voice came, soft and hesitant, and when Arwen turned Pippin was in front of her, unsure and uncomfortable in his oversized guard-outfit.

"Don't… take him away from Legolas, fair Lady." He said, eyes darting around. "They… they are… they…"

"They… need each other!" Sam interjected, blushing fiercely and lowering his eyes when Arwen cocked her head to look at him. "I'm no good at poetry – not when it goes to compose it, if you see what I mean, but I guess I can say they're like the wings of a bird, fair Lady, and be quite sure I'd put it the right way. One can't fly without the other." He bowed to the ground. Frodo smiled at his companion's almost prone form, and stepped forward, bowing himself.

"What binds them we do not know –even if we do guess. But they are not aware themselves of what it is that they have. Thus - unsure of what to do, they choose to do naught." Frodo straightened enough to catch the Lady's eye. "For all they know now, is that they love you." And Arwen smiled at him then, and it was like thousands of springs had flooded the gloomy hall to lit it with heavenly radiance.

"I know. Just as I love them." She turned, her skirt brushing against her legs with the sound of Ocean waves. She would say no more, but offered her hand to Éowyn and let the other woman lead her back to the gates. And there together they waited for the rest of the Undòmiel's escort, Elladan and Elrohir, and Elrond their father, to arrive. Only then Arwen entered again the city, as a Queen this time, instead than a dashing shadow, but she would not let Éowyn leave her side: not when Aragorn and Legolas embraced her; not when the Dùnedain and Men of Gondor bowed to her, nervously recognizing her as the one that would divide their King and their Prince; not when the Fellowship falteringly nodded to her; not even when she readied herself for the ball, or when she entered the gleaming halls into which it was taking place.

Yes, they loved her, and she loved them.

But not enough, she realized. Of course they loved her greatly - enough to tell her naught of their love; enough to sacrifice it –something so astonishingly right- for her sake. But she… she didn't love them as much as they did her. She did not love either of them enough to grieve at the sight of said love. She loved them just enough… yes, surely just enough to desire to see them where they belonged: together.

And she was determined to see her wish realized before morrow.

* * * * *

The vast hall was a glitter of white and gold, with tapestries of fiery red and velvety black hanging like flames and twilight made cloth from the walls. When Arwen came in, clad in white and lilac, descending slowly the marble stairs, it was as if the glittering and shining doubled to the point to be dazzling. Aragorn, perched atop the dais where the King and Queen's thrones were set, felt his breath catch. His heart ached as she approached, dark and luminous at the same time, and he searched Legolas with his eyes, bottomless grey aflame with desperation.

He found the Elf almost effortlessly, as if knowing without need to look where his heart's desire was. Legolas stood on the other side of the room, leaning gracefully against a high column, fingers curled around a glass of wine. A vision of grace and nobility, fair and luminous, without any trace of Arwen's dark beauty, but with so much more light than her. When his eyes met his King's Legolas held up the translucent chalice in his hands, golden torch-light setting the sweet liquor it held on fire. It cast bows of eldritch ruby light to course down the Elf's skin, tracing sensuous lines down his high cheekbones, caressing his forehead, licking his lips and his chin to die on his neck. His features were peaceful, glowing beautifully amidst light and music and pale shadow. Then something crossed across his countenance, a swift shadow of sorrow. Then it was gone, and both Man and Elf turned toward the vision that Arwen was. 

She had already walked up the three steps that lead to the dais, and within instants she was in front of Aragorn, her head bowed in greeting. By her side, head similarly bowed but held with more pride and might, was Éowyn, ethereal in the folds of her ivory dress. Aragorn frowned, wondering why such duty as accompany Arwen to him –a duty that should have been righteously Elrond's- had been given to the golden Lady of Rohan. Legolas merely looked away. Dark and beautiful, Arwen was a vision he could not bare to look. Not when she belonged to he who Legolas loved. 

Arwen smiled fondly at Aragorn, but the Man had to swallow more than once before his lips would curve into a smile. His eyes darted around, searching friendly faces admits the crowd, and found plenty. But no help came from the comforting sight. Many smiled at him, but when his eyes fell on Gandalf's own smile he could not help but wonder, yet again, why the Wizard was doing this to him. His eyes flickered down to Arwen, and again he swallowed upon seeing her sweet smile. Tradition said that once the King had chosen his spouse he had to hold a ball, and thus present the future Queen to his people. He would ask her to join him for the night's first dance, one during which only the King and his spouse could occupy the dance floor, and after it they'd be as good as married. None in Minas Tirith had known of such tradition until Gandalf had spoken of it, showing Aragorn and the rest of the Fellowship a worn-out, ancient-looking book of Gondor Lore. Doubtless the Wizard had been searching for it in the libraries of Minas Tirith for days, but what was his purpose Aragorn did not know.

Taking a deep breath in the Man closed his eyes, and gathered courage to choose the course of his life. Taker her white hand, and stop thinking about Legolas forevermore, or run away with the Prince, even though friendship would be most surely all that would bind them? Lost in his thoughts he failed to see Arwen beckoning the musicians to start playing, but felt as if jolts of lightning coursed through him as she took one of his hands in hers. He forced his eyes open, and Arwen's smiling face was there, luminous and breathtaking, and his heart gave a pang. She was already dragging him to the centre of the hall, where they'd had to start waltzing, walking backward like Aragorn had done that night of so much time ago with Legolas. He found himself lost in his Prince's thoughts, and closed his eyes yet again, failing to see it when Arwen reached the middle of the room and did not stop.

Watching Arwen leading Aragorn through the room Legolas felt the familiar prick of tears and exhaled shakily, repeating himself over and over that was for the best. That Aragorn would be happy with her, happier than he would ever be with him. Eyes closed he pressed a hand to his chest, as if waiting to feel his heart shatter, and bit his bottom lip in hope to tame the tears he felt gathering. Then a shadow came, hovering above him, and Legolas frowned. His lids fluttered open, and in front of him stood Arwen, with Aragorn behind her, his mouth and eyes alike wide. Immediately the Prince scampered to his feet and made to bow, but Arwen placed a gentle hand on his chest, just where he had laid his own before, and helped him stand. She curled her fingers around his, gently, and then brought both her hands in front of her. The Lady of Rivendell smiled then, the light of it putting sunlight to shame. Then she walked backwards, dropping her hands slowly, and Éowyn appeared behind her, looking as if supporting her. Both ladies smiled, and Aragorn and Legolas shared a look, confusion clear over their features. It was then that they noticed it.

Their hands, clasped together between them.

Legolas's eyes went wide, and he would have reeled backward in his shock if not for fear of losing the marvellous feeling of Aragorn's touch. The King sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes darting from his and Legolas's linked hands to Arwen's smile and back

_Tradition said that once the King had chosen his spouse he had to hold a ball, and thus present the future Queen to his people. _

As remembrance came to him Legolas felt the sudden urge to bolt. Suddenly he felt his chest ache and desired to run. Surely… surely Arwen… Aragorn… couldn't… wouldn't… he wasn't… he was just an Elf Prince… he couldn't… they couldn't…

_He would ask her to join him for the night's first dance, one during which only the King and his spouse could occupy the dance floor, and after it they'd be as good as married. _

Aragorn looked at Arwen a last time, and she smiled, beckoning him to move with a tilt of her head. The Man smiled at her, for real this time, and both their hearts warmed. Then he looked down at the shivering Prince, who still couldn't move his cerulean eyes from their clasped hands, and Aragorn felt the warmth generated from his heart spread through him. The Man still lacked the courage to move though, but when he felt Legolas's fingers slid from his own he squeezed the Elf's hands gently. Scared, wide blue eyes and equally scared and wide grey ones met when the Elf looked up sharply, his breathing brisk. Aragorn shivered once, and then he stepped closer and brought their clasped hands up, so that they hovered between their faces. His mouth was dry, his chest burned, and his voice came as a hoarse whisper.

"…dance with me?"

_Tradition said that once the King had chosen his spouse he had to hold a ball, and thus present the future Queen to his people. He would ask her to join him for the night's first dance, one during which only the King and his spouse could occupy the dance floor, and after it they'd be as good as married. _

Legolas's head spun. Aragorn… was… asking him to marry him? That… that could not be. Yet… the Prince could not stop his head when he nodded slowly, nor he could stop his feet when Aragorn led him to the middle of the dance floor. The Man's strong arm curled around his wait, and Legolas leaned against him completely, unable to contain a sigh as dizzying warmth filled him. The world dissolved and melded around him as they began to waltz. At first Aragorn wouldn't loosen the grip he had on the fair Prince, almost scared that if he let go he would vanish, but then Legolas was linked with Aragorn with but a hand. He was lead around, his arm stretched, and then he was spinning gracefully, under the man's arm. A gentle pull lead him back into the Man's embrace, and it was like coming back home after a long journey: warm and welcoming and refreshing at once. But still he shivered. And his shivers doubled when Aragorn leaned down and hot breath wafted across the Elf's pointed ear.

"You're shivering." The Man said softly, trembling slightly himself. Shaking his head Legolas rose his eyes from Aragorn's chest to his low neckline, where the Evenstart ought to be, gazing at the bare skin at the base of his throat.

"I'm scared." He said softly. "I don't want to wake up." With one broad hand Aragorn reached out and lifted the Elf's face gently. Legolas looked into his eyes then, and saw stormed Oceans that allured him more than any Sea on Middle Heart would ever.

"Wake up?" The man questioned gently. Legolas nodded.

"And go back in a world where you don't love me as I do." Finally the time for words had come, Aragorn realized. With the most radiant smile that had ever grazed his face the Man stopped, and cupped Legolas's face in both hands.

"Legolas Greenleaf, I love you. I'm in love with you, my Harmony, and my heart is and will always be yours to keep." Legolas's eyes grew wide, and if possible that made him look even more beautiful.

"I… I'm your…?" Aragorn nodded, dragging his thumb gently across Legolas's lips to silence the stuttered question.

"My Harmony." He whispered softly, drawing his face closer to Legolas agonizingly slowly. "My love. My Legolas." And finally he leaned all the way down, putting his heart and soul in a kiss that was just the first of many to come. At first the Elf did naught but accept the kiss, moaning softly against the Man's lips, a bit rough, a bit tinier than his own, but still gentle and as sweet as honey. Then, before he knew it Legolas had slid his hands up to cup Aragorn's face as he had done his own, pressing back into the kiss with desperate passion, and slid his tongue into the Man's waiting mouth, twin moans escaping both of them. Their mouths parted briefly, and then touched again, even more briefly. Again they parted and again they met over and over, until it could not be told anymore where one kiss ended and the other began.

Even thought the world had stopped moving for the two of them, in truth it had not, and presently most of the guests of the Tower exploded in an applause when Gimli gave a sound, throaty laugh. The Hobbits began to shout their approval, making so much noise it seemed as if they were disappointed not to have been the ones to start the cheering. Pippin was literally bouncing, looking particularly hilarious in his oversized outfit. Gandalf took it upon himself to stop the Hobbit's exuberance and did so with a laugh and playful smack on the back of the his head. The Dùnedain, clad in the grey of their kin and the silver and black of Gondor, rose their cups to their King and their Prince. Many followed their example, Éomer and Faramir first. Éowyn held her chin high and smiled, blond tresses glittering in the same light that had made Legolas ethereal, looking like a precious stone. Arwen shed a single tear, but she was indeed glad; glad beyond measure and words as she watched the two lovers finally united. Only Elrond rose an eyebrow in inquiry, but no heed was paid to him until much later.

At last Legolas and Aragorn broke their kiss, reluctantly, and looked into each other's eyes with wonder and shining love. The Harmony they'd been seeking without knowing, the Harmony each had found because of the other, flared into sudden life, powerful and endless, washing them with warmth and light almost visible to others. Emotions poured from one into the other and back like liquid fire as they looked at each other, their bodies pressed together. The peak and the starting point of their happiness blossomed then, like a rose inside their chests, and Aragorn suddenly knew nothing he'd felt before could ever compare to such bliss. Harmony… endless love, happiness, serenity, bliss… that's what Legolas was to him, and he knew he meant as much for the Elf: he could feel it, for they were bonded by their souls, and their hearths spoke as they beat in unison.

Aragorn pressed Legolas even closer to him as cheers and laughs seeped into their private world in one silvery bauble. Suddenly aware they were not, indeed, alone, they turned to the crowd filling the hall, and gaped, surprise claiming them. The blonde Prince sought refuge in his love's warmth, and placed one hand and cheek on the man broad chest timidly, a pink tinge suffusing his pale features. The King smiled down at him, and then beamed at his conspiring friends, aware at last of Gandalf's intentions. The Wizard had both mischief and a plea for forgiveness shining in his eyes, when Aragorn looked at them; and the long-hoped forgiveness came with a quick nod and a broader smile Aragorn offered without second thought. He squeezed his Elf even closer to him, his scent tantalizing to his senses, and breathed soft nonsense in the pointed ear as the cheering grew louder and intertwined with the music, the dance floor swarming now with laughing couples.

"Are you just a dream?" Legolas whispered in the folds of Aragorn's dark tunic, glancing around at the dizzyingly splendour of the marble hall.

"I thought you were." Aragorn replied just as softly, lost in Legolas and basking in his closeness even as dancers swayed and twirled about them.

"I'm not." Legolas purred, snuggling even closer to the Man's chest, and rubbed his head against it as a puppy would.

"Neither am I…" He retorted, and bending his head he captured Legolas's lips again, but more sweetly this time, and the Elf closed his eyes as his mouth was ravished in all thoroughness.

Maybe life wasn't a fairy tale, but Legends and happy endings still existed, it seemed. And as Aragorn held Legolas in his arms he thought of the incommensurable bliss one single creature could cause another. And then he found himself lost in a dream, or a memory, of a life yet to come, where in another time and place he would find himself lost again in the inebriating feeling that was Legolas's kiss. And there would be no rings, no quests, no death and no tears in an endless circle of lives and love. And Harmony would spread over the two of them as well as everyone who was ready to face happiness.

That was not their end, nor that seemed to be any close.

That was just the beginning, and of a journey that, for granted, would be as long as time itself.

Endless.

~~~~THE END~~~~~

  


**So my LoTR fic comes to its end. This has been one of my favourite stories ever, even thought I never dreamed I'd keep what started as a stand-alone going this long, and it's kinda sad to let go. I'd like to say thank you to all who have read this. *bows* I really hope you enjoyed reading it just as much as I did writing it. ^^ And a special thanks goes to everyone who reviewed me – you're the best! It made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside to be so welcome into a (for me) new fandom. ^_^ THANKS to all of you! I hope this ending lives up to your expectations... **

**The bonus lemon-chapter I promised you is on its way, so don't worry, but I must warn you that it may take me a lot, lot, LOT of time to write it. No-no, I'm not torturing you on purpose, it's just that I know myself and how slow I can get over writing a NC-17 fic. ^^;; **

**In the meantime I may write more A/L fics… I've ideas, some more light-hearted than this, some sadder, some shorter, some longer. Or I may write that sequel dealing with Aragorn's mortality that Elly suggested me… or I may just sit back and take a break. ;) We will see- with me and my muses you can never know. ^_^ **

***bows again*  
A very happy Necchan.**


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